


Lunchtime

by bonehandledknife (ladywinter)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, EVERYONE - Freeform, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, If I could draw I would draw the instagrams but I can't so my crops are unwatered, M/M, OKAY NO REALLY everyone is an unreliable narrator, Social Media, Time Travel AU, Unreliable Narrator, Vicchan Lives, Viktor has no chill, Viktor with a K, basically altered any copywrited brand but if I miss any OMG PLEASE TELL ME, kaasan or okaasan means mom, only english is used in this fic, vicchan with a c, with the exception of names and titles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-06 10:02:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10332149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladywinter/pseuds/bonehandledknife
Summary: “Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so.” - Douglas AdamsA Time Travel AU—“Yuuri, I’m so sorry, but Vicchan...” Mari says, her voice shaky, “Someone’s kidnapped him.”—Wherein Viktor Nikiforov has no chill.The moment he realizes he's travelled back in time is the moment he decides to hop on a plane. He has Priorities.





	1. Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so. (1/4)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been plotted out to roughly 30 chapters, and I've sat on the first part for over a month now if not more. I'm just gonna post it and stop stressing.
> 
> Love to [moonbelowsea](http://moonbelowsea.tumblr.com) for reading and outline betaing and generalized awesome handholding and cheerleading, [spicecapadespresentedbyps](https://spicecapadespresentedbyps.tumblr.com) for skatepicking, and [Jenrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenrose/pseuds/Jenrose) for beta. All current errors are my own.

He can’t have heard that right.

 _“What?”_ Yuuri’s staring blindly in his confusion. _Vicchan?_ His phone case creaks beneath his fingers. Mari continues speaking but he can’t process it.

Someone grabs his shoulder. Celestino. He’s shouting at Yuuri and pulling him towards the hotel.

He doesn’t understand what’s happening.

Four days later he _still_ doesn’t understand what’s happening. He’s sitting at a long table staring down at his new medal. He blinks. Looks up at a reporter, a microphone, a lit screen.

A video, looping. He’s seen it before. _Everyone_ ’s seen it, because everyone’s been glued to SNS for the _past four days_.

“Yuuri Katsuki, can you comment on this?”

Yuuri finds himself staring in vague horror at an instagram of Viktor Nikiforov gently flapping Vicchan’s ears at the camera, smiling hearts and rainbows. Vicchan’s pressed so close to the camera he is almost taking up the whole screen, Viktor is just over his shoulder. Both of them are barking playfully in encouragement, trying to outdo each other, until Viktor coughs and falls over laughing.

 

**79,812 views**

**v-nikiforov** Skate something beautiful for us! #KatsukiYuuri #GPF #GoldForVicchan

view all 92 comments

 

“Um.”

 

—

 

**Five days before...**

 

The 2015 Sochi Grand Prix official event hotel lobby witnessed a constant flow of people; judges, reporters, skating fans, and competitors, among the usual travellers and tourists. Unremarked until much much later is a tall man in a trench coat, wrapped up in a scarf, snuggled under a flap-eared hat.

No one even notices when Viktor leaves.

 

—

 

_28hrs in First Class..._

 

_Versus 24hrs, but Business Class._

 

24 hours, he thinks, is better than 28, except, well... _business class._ And not even a Yuuri to sleep against.

Not even a pillow one.

_Sigh._

 

—

 

Yuuri had been instructed to try and shake off the jetlag, maybe relax, do some sightseeing—

 

_‘Get some good pictures for me Yuuri!’_

_‘You’d need to get selfies on your own Phichit.’_

_‘Next year then!’_

 

—but the idea of it just makes his skin crawl. He’s here to _work_ , doesn’t anyone _understand that?_

He ducks out of his room, finally. Yuuri had spent most of the prior day alternately being an insomniac and oversleeping. Registration is tomorrow; Celestino actually paid out of pocket for an extra night, having them arrive earlier than what the ISU would normally cover for participation, just so that Yuuri could unwind.

It had only made his shoulders feel heavier. Celestino didn’t have to do that; Yuuri was only Yuuri, why would _his coach_ pay? As the skater, Yuuri is obligated to pay for his coach to even be here with him.

 _“Skate for yourself.”_ Celestino kept saying to him, and it made something in himself curl up in dismay under the shadow of that expectation. Skate for “Yuuri”? “Courage” is what his parents named him, but he doesn’t feel courageous. Courage is a mask he wears, and wears poorly. Skate for “Katsuki”? “Born to win” is the family he comes from but he doesn’t know if he can win, if he can live up to his _own name_.

 _“Skate for Yourself.”_ Celestino had said, and it only made Yuuri feel alone _,_ unworthy of being protected by his coach’s name or his coach’s money, unworthy of representing his coach. It’s foolish, maybe, to think like this; he’s come to dimly realize through his years in Detroit that such ways of thinking are foreign to Westerners and their ideas of individualism.

But knowing something and feeling something are two very different things.

 

_This is what Yuuri knows: he worries a lot. More than other people. Perhaps too much. He lacks confidence._

_This is what Yuuri feels: he is not enough. His cracks are ugly and apparent and he’s just barely holding it together._

_It’s difficult to blame his feelings on his anxiety, difficult to even see the connection between ‘knowing’ and ‘feeling’, because feelings are immediate. Hurt is immediate. Like pinching yourself, like a slap to the face, like the ice after falling out of a jump; pain is how you know it’s not a nightmare but that you're awake._

_This is what being awake is to Yuuri: he is not enough._

_It hurts and that’s how Yuuri knows its true._

 

The worry makes Yuuri’s legs itch, he wants to be on the ice. To find some proof that he can do this, that skating in the Grand Prix on the same ice as Viktor Nikiforov is actually possible, is actually happening, is actually doable. That the movements he’d ground into his muscle memory are still there.

He wants proof that he might be enough, even if he’s standing alone.

So even though official practice will be in two days, Yuuri’s already heading towards the rink. He’d have to pay for the time, whereas the official practice would be comped, but it’s the only way to assure himself. The only way to feel solid again.

The ice has always cleared his head.

Yuuri shoulders through the crowd in the lobby. It’s weirdly packed for some reason, maybe for an early mixer? Someone shouts in Russian, angry or maybe panicked, but Yuuri doesn’t want to assume. Even spoken softly, Russian feels intimidating for some reason, makes his stomach wiggle. The shouting has him duck into his scarf and the collar of his heavy winter coat as he heads out the main double doors—fancy huge glass ones that still aren’t wide enough for the crowd of reporters and cameramen who shove at each other to get through.

Yuuri manages to avoid being trampled. Watches silently as the crowd heads straight into the thick of all that Russian yelling.

 _Guess this must be what it’s like when Viktor Nikiforov’s in town,_ Yuuri muses as he walks towards the rink, sidestepping rubberneckers and fans.

 

—

 

**BREAKING NEWS:**

Police have received a missing persons report for Viktor Nikiforov, four time consecutive World Champion and Grand Prix winner, and Russian Olympic gold medalist figure skater. The police and the ISU are asking for the public’s assistance for information of his whereabouts. He was last seen at...

 

—

 

Even though it’s December, there’s something about the cold that hits his face when he enters an ice rink that feels denser, more intense, more elemental. But it doesn’t remind of nature so much as it speaks to something _… artificial?_

 _“Artificial” is the wrong word,_ Yuuri thinks. _Not “fake”, not “manufactured”. It’s instead something like, like—_

 _Ah,_ _like “craft”_. _An ice rink is for crafting, carving into_.

_Like marble. Or sandpainting._

Yuuri pays the rink fee. The attendant barely glances at him, seeming distracted by the TV, and that’s nice; he hates being stared at. He decides to unhook his face mask, shoulders loosening as he looks around. Even this far into the evening the place is oddly empty for being so close to a competition.

The emptiness makes Yuuri feel nostalgic. It feels safe, as if he’s at the Ice Castle again. (As if he’s home.)

He sheds a couple layers and jogs in place to warm up a little, then laces up quickly. Yuuri looks around as he steps onto the ice and finally sees a crowd of people hovering around the TVs in the small bar next to the vending machines. He could just about hear the Russian coming from it as he warms up more with some laps and compulsory figures, and sees some cops and reporters on the screen as he skates by. There’s a faint familiar burn in his legs, and Yuuri circles his arms around until they’re warmed up too and his shoulders are looser; goes through a sequence of dynamic stretching before going into progressively deeper Ina Bauers and lunges on both sides to stretch his legs.

 _A crime drama?_ Yuuri wonders as his last Ina Bauer swings him by the bar again, then transitioning into an easy and loose camel spin. _Maybe a season finale? Everyone seems enthralled._

He switches legs on the camel, transitions into a layback, then slowly lowers himself into deeper and deeper sit spins. _Quadriceps are a little tight from the airplane but ankles seem ok._ Warmed up and stretched, Yuuri reaches up to the ceiling, cracking his back, and then starts working in earnest.

Nobody pays any attention when Yuuri flubs his first jump.

There’s only a couple scratches besides his own, the ice is very nearly fresh. It’s just practice, and Yuuri’s good at practice. He feels a smile twitch at his mouth as he bursts into his step sequence for the pure joy of it, a serpentine mark from one end of the rink to the other, left behind him like some grand signature.

 _Craft,_ Yuuri thinks, amused.

He hits his next jump, triple axel. Then he touches down on the quad toe loop.

_No one’s watching. Try again._

A wobble on the landing, try again. _Ah! Watch that rotation…_

_There!_

Nailing a landing that smoothly always makes his chest feel full of champagne bubbles, energized. He decides to run through his programs, no one else seems interested in coming out to the ice which means the entire rink is his. And he’s feeling good about this. Yuuri can imagine being here in a couple more days, in this same room, on this same ice, skating to the same music that’s running through his head right now.

(He ignores the sound of sirens that come and go. It seems like there’s a lot of crime in this city, but this is his first time in Sochi. It’s probably impolite to mention it so he doesn’t ask around.)

 

—

 

_Imagine: a normal rink under normal circumstances, full of people. Full of people watching you fall. Over and over until the falling becomes an inevitability, becomes muscle memory, becomes the definition of who you are and what you will do. It plays in your mind, on repeat._

_You visualize failure and the failure becomes real._

_How you practice becomes how you perform._

_Ah but isn’t it lucky that there was no one skating that evening?_

 

—

 

Yuuri leaves the rink relaxed, muscles sore and joints humming, the sky dark. He can almost pretend that he’s simply returning home after a night at the Ice Castle. The worry over the competition’s still there, but muted; he’d managed to skate both programs cleanly several times before he’d headed back.

His phone rings.

“Mari-neechan?”

She’s speaking so fast.

“Mari, slow down! No stop, I’m not the police, you got the wrong numb— what’s going— Yes, yes this is Yuuri, what do you mean Vicchan was—”

That can’t be right.

_“What?”_

 

—

 

“I’m glad I found you Yuuri!”

Celestino’s leading him through the lobby. _Who would even kidnap Vicchan?_

“Come on, everyone’s in a conference room.”

Everyone in Hasetsu knows each other, it’s pretty safe, his family’s well liked, the town can’t have changed _that_ much since Yuuri had left. _But it’s been almost five years,_ Yuuri thinks with a guilty pang, five years that he’d stayed away because he’d had nothing to show for leaving. Won nothing deserving of a katsudon, nothing to make his parents proud, nothing to make up for leaving Vicchan. He doesn’t deserve a trip home.

“No one know’s if it’s foul play, and the police wants all the competitors in one place.”

Yuuri had known that to throw all of himself into skating there wouldn’t be enough hours to take care of a poodle. Poodles get attached easily, and their hearts break easily, and Vicchan has all but camped in his room for these last five years. But five years is _thirty five_ in dog years. He tries imagining not seeing Mari or Phichit or his family for thirty five years, and not knowing why. He imagines grieving for almost _four decades_. Imagines being kidnapped and terrified. His stomach curdles in on itself.

“Just in case someone is targeting them in general…”

 _Was it worth it?_ Yuuri’s guilt asks of him. _Leaving Vicchan to that?_

“...but then the man’s worth almost 40 million US, they might be just targeting Nikiforov.”

Yuuri darts his head up. _Targeting Nikiforov?_

Celestino looks at him, and his mouth clicks shut. Then narrows his eyes, _“Tell_ me you’ve been paying attention to the news?”

He stares back.

 _“Yuuri.”_ His coach facepalms, “Okay. Just this once, unblock your notifications and go look at social media. It’d be faster than explaining.”

 

—

 

 **Router’s Top News** @Routers ･ 5hr

Russian Olympic Gold Medalist #ViktorNikiforov Missing! #ViktorNikiforov #figureskating [ https://tinyurl.com/hz5r398 ](https://tinyurl.com/hz5r398)

 

 **iiSPN** @iispn ･ 3hr

Speculation persists that #ViktorNikiforov has been kidnapped #ISU and #RSF are assuming foul play #figureskating

 

 **Комерсантъ** @komersant ･ 1hr

Police reports inconclusive, witnesses still being questioned... #ViktorNikiforov #missingperson [ https://goo.gl/2vJRsx ](https://goo.gl/2vJRsx)

 

 **Figure Skating Fan** @goldenskate578 ･ 3m

I can’t believe this is happening #ViktorNikiforov #kidnapping #whereisViktorNikiforov

 

 **Joy B** @JoyBGood ･ 48m

The #ISU policy on #GPF Replacements, Section 10.1 #ViktorNikiforov #whereisViktorNikiforov [ https://tinyurl.com/jfpenz5 ](https://tinyurl.com/jfpenz5)

 

 **Bill Stimmons** @BillStimmons ･ 1hr

Nikiforov hiding an injury? #ViktorNikiforov #sports #figureskating ‘How being injured affects mental health’ [ http://on.ncaa.com/2aYM4BY ](http://on.ncaa.com/2aYM4BY)

 

 **JJ is our King** @ForeverJJ ･ 16m

....he’s old and washed up and I bet he just decided to quit. (5/5) #ViktorNikiforov #dramaqueen #overrated [ http://bit.ly/2kAIMLX ](http://bit.ly/2kAIMLX)

 

 **VictoriaN** @nikiforever88 ･ 6m

#ViktorNikiforov would never just leave like this! Replacements are only on standby until three days before #GPF #kidnapping #whereisVictorNikiforov

 

 **Scott Hamilton** @ScottHamiIton83 ･ 10m

What does this mean for Sochi #GPF? Officials from ISU and RSF are arguing about where is #ViktorNikiforov and a potential #lockdown

 

 **iiSPN** @iispn ･ 3m

Officials are considering cancelling or posponing the #GrandPrixFinals due to security reasons #GPF #ViktorNikiforov #figureskating #missingpersons

 

—

 

_This. This can’t be happening._

_This was supposed to be the year we stepped onto the same ice…_

 

—

 

“Celestino I need to— to. I’ll be in the restroom.”

“Sure, there’s one right across from the conference room but don’t wander too far. You should probably call your family. Make sure they know you’re safe.”

“Ah. Yes.”

 

—

 

Yuuri practically stumbles into the stall. He finds himself dialing his mom. Closes and locks the door behind him.

“Hello? Kaasan? It’s Yuuri. I’m alright.” He says in a rush, falling into Japanese. He collapses onto the toilet. First Vicchan and then Viktor, and they might cancel the Grand Prix Finals now, when he’d only _just_ qualified this year, and Yuuri hates himself that he can’t figure out which part of it all upsets him the most.

“Yuuri! Hello! It’s good to hear from you!” Her voice was full of joy and hearing her makes him feel both better and worse. “Is the hotel for your competition nice? The World Finals wasn’t it?”

“Grand Prix Finals, Okaasan, Worlds is next year.” Yuuri laughs a little, shakily, and then breathes in.

He stares at the tile beneath his shoes. The grout’s pretty disgusting.

“I...I heard from Mari that Vicchan was—” he pauses not sure how to continue, he doesn’t want to say _stolen_ because Vicchan’s family it’s a _kidnapping,_ but in that silence he hears loud familiar barking. “V-vicchan?”

The barking gets closer as if his mom is heading towards the source or if Vicchan’s running towards the phone.

She laughs, “Vicchan’s fine, you would not believe… Viktor-san! Come here, come here, Yuuri would probably like to speak to you!”

“Vik….tor?” Yuuri cannot be hearing this right.

His door’s kicked open.

 

—

 

 **Viktor Nikiforov** @v-nikiforov ･ 2m

I’m okay! taking a break at #Yutopia onsen in pretty #Hasetsu Come and visit @yurikatsuki #TreatYoSelf #Japan #SURPRISE #Ninja

 

—

 

“—YOU ASSHOLE!” The small blond’s pressed close and shouting at the phone, trying to pull it from Yuuri’s ears, “YOU NUTLESS PIECE OF SHIT, gimme that phone loser, VIKTOR NIKIFOROV, YOU ARE NOT GETTING OUT OF THIS! THE RSF IS—”

“Excuse me.” Yuuri says firmly and tries to pull his phone away. The teenager tugs it back.

“—SAYING THAT FUCKING GEORGI SHOULD TAKE YOUR PLACE, WE BOTH KNOW HE’S, just _give_ me the fucking phone already!”

They both grunt as they yank the phone between themselves, using both hands now, crashing against the walls of the small stall. The plastic bends and metal hinges squeak.

“Look, the geezer’s not answering his number! Do you know what this _looks like_ to Russia?”

“Viktor can’t be in jap—we’re talking about _my dog!”_

The teenager stops and leans back a little, still not letting go of Yuuri’s phone. “Your _dog,”_ he says derisively.

The door to the restroom opens behind them and someone rushes to the urinals. Both of them ignore it.

“Yeah, um,” he flushes, “I named him Victor after… look just. I’ll call him over you’ll see.”

And Yuuri turns on the speakerphone with his thumb, trying not to let it out of his grip.

 _“Kaasan?”_ He calls out in Japanese, _“Can you put Vicchan on the phone?”_

His dog barks.

Yuuri smiles helplessly. “Hi Victor.”

“...hi Yuuri!”

Yuuri stops breathing.

The voice spoke English, with a Russian accent. Yuuri’s basically memorized the sound of it from watching interviews.

The blond across from him has hellfire in his eyes.

“YOU LYING PIECE OF _TRASH.”_ He yanks at the phone.

It goes flying. Yuuri’s hand had loosened in his surprise. They chase after it, or try to, futilely shoving against each other to leave the stall first, but it’d shot over a guy’s shoulder, hit the wall above the urinal, and then bounced off the guy’s chest with a _fwap._

_Plunk._

It’s a very ceramic-sounding echo.

They race over, one on each side of the man, and peer down. The phone’s sitting on top of a urinal cake.

A final, surprised, splash of yellow lands fragrantly on top.

“...er.”

Yuuri and the teenager look up.

Scott Hamilton blinks back at them. Their eyes drop down for a moment, like a trainwreck. (Like not thinking about an _elephant_ in the _room._ Because.)

They simultaneously whip around and stare up at the ceiling. _(Elephant._ Um.)

“Sorry!”  “...sorry.” (because _it is—)_

 _The hotel’s crown molding is very, very fancy,_ Yuuri thinks hysterically.

The door opens again.

“Yuri, we need to make statement! What’s taking so lo—”

 

—

 

Yakov’s too old for this shit.

 

—

 

 **Viktor Nikiforov** @v-nikiforov ･ 2m

This inn is amazing! #Yutopia #Hasetsu

> [image: Viktor taking a selfie in a blue hakama waving a fan. Behind him is a lush-looking inn with Japanese decorations and detailing. There’s a TV on the wall behind him showing live coverage from Sochi, from a certain conference room in a certain hotel. Yakov Feltsman is giving a statement; Russia’s Junior Grand Prix representative is at his shoulder, jaw hard, color high in his cheeks. Men in expensive suits can be seen over Feltsman’s shoulder, yelling at each other.]

 

 **Viktor Nikiforov** @v-nikiforov ･ 3m

@sk8terfan93 because of this cutie right here! His name is Vicchan! #poodle #foundhim #tinyMakkachin #twoVics 

> [image: profile shot of Viktor pressed nose to nose with Vicchan]

 

 **Viktor Nikiforov** @v-nikiforov ･ 6m

(2/2)  ...your time to shine @christophe-gc, I’m not flying all the way back! Taking a break ))))) **#GPF**

 

—

 

"I already said I’ll get him another.” Yura mutters in Russian.

Yakov crosses his arms and cuts short his lecture. The boy clearly isn’t listening any more and is instead monitoring the Japanese skater like a hawk as the young man skims through Vitya’s recent twitter posts on Yura’s phone.

“How could he _do_ this two days before the competition??” Katsuki mutters, wild-eyed. “I’d thought for sure he’d been kidnapped. Viktor had committed to the competition, wouldn’t the ISU bring sanctions or fines against him?” He sucks in a surprised breath, “What is this going to do to his eligibility for the rest of the season?”

He softens a bit at the sportsmanlike concern for a fellow skater, but Yakov knows there will be no fines or sanctions from the ISU; the intrigue and drama is generating an intense amount of widespread public interest, thus no shortage of free publicity and leverage towards future ad revenue for the networks. Vitya’s probably generating more clicks and viewers with this stunt than anything’s he’s done on ice for the past three years. As for the rest of the season’s competitions, officials would probably dig up a rule to bend, or simply instate a new one, just so Vitya could compete.

The only sides to come up short in this whole debacle are the fans who purchased tickets specifically to see Vitya perform... and Russia. RSF officials and Yakov himself have argued for Vitya’s spot to be replaced by another Russian figure skater but truthfully they’re all only arguing to save face. Something to point to in case the Hammer comes down. The ISU has already been quietly fast-tracking the 7th place skater to arrive from Kazakstan before open practice tomorrow; as if the RSF doesn’t actually know. _Fools._

“Is he going to be okay?” Katsuki asks, and then as if to himself, “Why’s he at _our_ onsen?”

“You can confirm his location then? The photos?” Yakov presses.

“Yes, it’s our inn. But. Even if he decided to fly halfway around the world, why… why Hasetsu? It’s small, not like Kyoto or Nara. It’s not famous like Hakone. Why my _family’s_ place? _Why did he take my dog?!”_ The skater’s clutching at his hair now, “I’ve never even, you have to believe me Mr. Feltsman, I’ve never even spoken to him before!”

The confusion, surprise, and distress are too genuine.

“Oi, don’t smudge my phone _moron!”_

“Oh. Here.”

Yakov sees the hovering reporters out of the corner of his eye and looks up at the other coach. Celestino’s lifted his eyes from his own phone and nods, shrugging, and joins Yakov in herding them all out of the room, making deflections due to the lateness of the evening and promises for statements tomorrow.

In the hallway Celestino says quietly, “I can vouch for Yuuri, I wouldn’t even know when they could have met.”

“Hmph. Whatever the truth of it, tomorrow will be a madhouse. No one’s getting a line to the inn, and reporters haven’t tracked down anyone’s numbers,” Yakov replies. “Katsuki’s phone must replaced at some point. He’s made the only successful contact.”

“I’ll see to getting you time to find a grApple Store. From the years I’ve known them, his parents seem strict about maintaining their privacy, ” Celestino runs his hand over his head, “None of this is good for Yuuri’s stress levels and the distraction isn’t good for your skater either.”

Yakov nods absently and watches Yura and Katsuki walk ahead of him, the teenager intense in a way that he normally only is around Viktor.

“And why do you have _my_ name? There’s no room for two Yuri’s in figure skating!”

“I’m not even in your division.” The flatness of Yuuri’s voice is in marked contrast to the hysterical confusion just moments before.

“I will be next year!”

“And I was here first. Most don’t make it to the Finals their first year.” The tone is so mild that Yakov can’t tell if it’s a passive aggressive insult or an oblivious statement of fact. _You won’t make it to the Finals next year,_ hovers unsaid in the air. The transition to senior division tends to be rough on skaters; the competition an order of magnitude higher, like a sucker punch to the face. Most juniors don’t see it coming, used to coasting by on innate talent, and can’t make the transition.

But the way Yuuri  _said_ it was like a palmful of steel wool smashed gently to the face. Yakov sees it land with a sort of grim satisfaction and Yura’s face is a _sight._

“I’ll win GOLD at the Finals both this _and_ next year! Both divisions!”

Yuuri doesn’t even react, looks at the boy in some sort of blank confusion, and keeps walking.

Yura shakes with rage.

Yakov hadn’t been looking forward to Yura's senior debut. The boy’s fall to earth will be painful because expression tends to be harder to teach than jumps. But the Junior skater is bullheaded, and talented enough on the technical side that the RSF had been pressuring Yakov to develop the boy faster. Everybody can count and Vitya’s perhaps three years past when he should have retired if he was any other skater. The biggest surprise every year seems to be how the Living Legend's body can still hold up, his winning is almost an afterthought to anyone but Russia. And Russia needs to keep winning.

Thus, much is riding on Yuri Nikolaevich Plisetsky.

“I’ll show you on the ice at open practice, YOU LOSER!”

 _He’s always hated practicing,_ Yakov thinks.

“Alright.” Japan's Ace replies as he hits the elevator button.

Yura's face reaches a shade of infuriated that could melt glass.

And Yakov… Yakov chokes down a little bit of laughter and catches Celestino’s eye, “Maybe give your skater the distraction, and mine the stress.”

Celestino laughs with him, but looks at the two boys, thoughtful.

 

—

 

Yuuri tries all that evening, and then past midnight, to get a call to go through the landline. That entire evening was a blur after he'd caught up on the news after he'd left the bathroom, barely registering what he's saying and the conversation around him. It's just. It's too _much._

He doesn’t remember the current cell phone numbers that his family is using this month—they usually just text the numbers whenever they decide to switch. His family insists that prepaid phones are cheaper and it makes Yuuri feel guilty that he didn’t spend more time doing endorsements for them, except he’s pretty much awful in front of a camera.

He blows out a breath and tries to dial again. It’d already been midnight in Japan when he’d gotten back from the rink, and he’d hoped that someone would be up to take his call. But maybe they were busy, or called an early night, or simply took the phone off the hook. It was pretty crazy after they’d left the bathroom with all the reporters; Yuuri would not be surprised if they tried calling the inn if Viktor had ignored his phone as much as the other Yuri said.

 _Too many calls in one night and they unhook the phone,_ Mari had mentioned with a laugh, after Yuuri got silver at one of his qualifiers. _But they're used to it, just let us know if your number changes so we can reach you by cell._  

He had texted his family his hotel’s phone and his room number when he’d first arrived in Sochi and hopes that the caller id machine in the inn lets it show up and let them know it’s him; it’s 2am now so it should be early morning in Japan, maybe Yuuri can catch someone before the inn becomes busy.

 _Click!_ “Hello?”

“Oh! It connected,” Yuuri sags in relief, slipping into Japanese like a warm jacket, “Hello, sorry, it’s Yuuri.”

“Ah! Is everything alright?” his mom says, “We heard some shouting and then your call ended so fast.”

Yuuri coughs, “The phone fell in the toilet. Um. I’ll get another one today, same number probably.”

“Did you lose a lot of pictures? That must be very awful.”

“I backed up everything,” Yuuri assures her, and it’s not like most of the pictures weren’t duplicated by Phichit on SNS. Honestly there wasn’t anything on his phone that he really wanted or needed to keep close. “Ah, Kaasan. Is Viktor Nikiforov really at the inn?”

“Yes! He arrived last night. Took Vicchan to the vet and then showed up at our door.”

“The… the vet?”

“And offered to pay for cataract surgery, isn’t that nice of him?”

Yuuri slumps forward in confusion. “Why would he do that?”

“Viktor really loves poodles, you know,” his mom says to him very gently, then pauses as if searching for words, “He seems like a very dear friend.”

“I don’t understand,” Yuuri mutters, “I’ve never even spoken to him!”

“Oh!” There’s another long pause, then brightly, “Well Yuuri, you should say something to him then! Mari went up to get him for breakfast and he should be coming down—”

Yuuri hangs up.

His heart’s pounding.

He’s not breathing right.

He stares up at the ceiling not understanding how this became his life.

_Yuuri, you should say something to him then._

But all he can think to say is, _Why aren’t you here?_

He doesn’t even know how the words might come out, confused maybe. With hurt that has no source, with anger that has no justification, with grief that has no context.

With longing from a place that has no right to feel that Viktor Nikiforov owes Katsuki Yuuri anything. Least of all returning to Sochi to skate in a competition that Viktor clearly doesn’t care about.

It makes Yuuri’s efforts look worthless. All those hours he’d pushed himself just so that he could meet Viktor before the champion retires. All the people he’d given excuses to, the food he didn’t eat, the miles between him and his family.

Then his insides freeze in panic.

_Did they leave his room the way I left it?! I had over fifteen posters of Viktor!!! Maybe he won’t see?!?! But if I call they’re going to put Viktor on the line? What do I even say?!_

Yuuri stares down at the telephone.

It gives him no answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out Jenrose's [Translations On Ice](https://archiveofourown.org/series/624374) Series! I love the way they've set and extrapolated on skating and Viktuuri in our current political climate. 
> 
> There's no active homophobia in the fic itself, it's overall a beautifully heartwarming fic with no sadness, but instead a lot of lovely support from outsiders, and Superbowl ad shenanigans that I just adore to bits.
> 
>  
> 
> Yuri's full name is [Yuri **Nikolaevich Plisetsky**](http://c0rnfl0wer.tumblr.com/post/158793053134/psa-for-the-yoi-fandom-russian-names-how-to-use) and the latter two translates to 'Victory of the People'.  
>   
> 
> On a side note, I have no actual clue to Scott Hamilton's anything, all resemblance to IRL anything is purely coincidental. I am not making money off this omg don't sue.


	2. Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so. (2/4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [moonbelowsea](http://moonbelowsea.tumblr.com) for beta and [spicecapadespresentedbyps](https://spicecapadespresentedbyps.tumblr.com) for the skatepick. All remaining errors are my own.

Someone’s shaking him.

“Nnnarhg?”

“Yuuri, did you fall asleep at the desk? That’s terrible for your back! Your competition’s in two days, what were you _thinking?”_

He’s being manhandled to the bed.

“Did you even get any sleep?”

“Tried calling,” Yuuri mutters, rubbing at his eyes.

“Did you get ahold of anyone?”

The thought of it made a low wail start up in his throat, and he flops over. Buries himself under a pillow. Toes his shoes off.

“I’m taking that as a no,” Celestino sounds amused and too awake, “I’m leaving water and breakfast on the sidetable, I’d rather you get some more sleep. I’ll handle the press and registration; you just be awake for open practice. Okay?”

He makes some noise of agreement and finds himself drifting off—

 

 _Yuuri,_ the posters on his bedroom walls command, plastic mouths moving in sync.

_Yuuri say something._

He backs away and backs away until unconsciousness eats him up.

 

—

 

“—uuri, Yuuri, hey, you awake?”

He rubs at his face.

“Look, I’m not letting you out there to practice if you’re just going to injure yourself.” Celestino taps the skate guards against Yuuri’s bicep. _“Focus._ We’re here before open practice actually starts only because the officials were understanding of the circumstances.”

He blinks until the bright glare of the ice makes his eyes water and help clear the sleep gunk.

Breathes the chill in. Exhales, nods, and pushes onto the rink.

Yuuri goes through his usual laps and stretches. The memory of last night lingers. _You should say something to him._

“Go through your short program at 80% intensity,” Celestino calls out.

He raises a palm in acknowledgement and goes to center ice. Takes his pose. Starts skating. It feels as if he’s going through the motions, listless. Triple axel, light and lazy, like an afterthought.

His theme this year was Inspiration, but.

But. (And Yuuri feels a sharp flash of irritation that Viktor isn’t even going to compete.) He leaps into a flying spin. (The entire reason that drove his past decade on the ice, _everything_ he put his family through, and leaving Vicchan even though Yuuri knows his poodle _cries_ every time he’d left even a single night for regionals—)

His steps _scalds_ through the ice, chips flying with the angry pressure he puts into the edges, then whips around backwards and barely giving himself a breath of time (—and Yuuri _knows_ he’s being unreasonable _he knows_ it’s stupid to feel this way _he knows_ he’s being a stupid _moron_ —)

Yuuri hits the ice hard on the salchow, rolls up out of it, still on the beat to his imaginary music (—two three four—) and uses the momentum to flow into his combo spin.

( _Why aren’t you here?_ He thinks.) He changes feet, develops the spin and.

Rises out of it.

( _Why aren’t you here,_ he wonders quietly.) He starts his last step sequence out slow, then speeds up as if chasing something something _something_ just barely beyond his fingertips, swerving as he swerves, juking as he jukes, and Yuuri throws in a sharp deke to get ahead, turns around to look back at it, and _slams_ his toepick into the ice.

He lands his quad toe. Goes cleanly into the double.

His spread eagle is pure challenge. His last spin is so fast everything flies away. ( _—why_ aren’t you meeting me on the ice?)

Yuuri comes to a stop.

One heartbeat. Two. Three.

Four; and he releases his ending pose, and skates up to Celestino who seem bemused. His coach looks over to his right with a raised eyebrow.

Yuuri realizes suddenly that Coach Feltsman is there. And staring at him with arms crossed. Then Yakov sighs and looks over to his right as well and Yuri Plisetsky’s standing there like he’d just snorted an entire lemon up his nose.

Yuuri scratches the back of his neck and skates to the boards to face the music from the coaches and the Junior skater frozen on the ice. Celestino hands him his glasses. It’s hard to meet their eyes, that Quad Salchow had been too rushed; even if he’d landed it, it’d been badly under-rotated. He barely even remembers most of it, and he thinks he might’ve freestyled some hockey moves in his last step sequence. Yuuri’s face feels hot. That was _incredibly_ amateur.

“Um, door’s about to open to the other skaters right?” He looks at Plisetsky, “You’d probably have time for a full run while it’s still empty.”

The teenager comes alive and practically shoves past him getting to center ice. “Your salchow is pathetic, loser.”

Yuuri comes up next to his coach and grabs the bottle of water sitting at his elbow. He doesn’t want to see Coach Feltsman’s expression. They all silently watch Plisetsky take position.

Skaters and fans start coming in.

"That was different!" Celestino remarks, not turning to him.

"Sorry, I know it's not what I’m supposed to be practicing."

“No no! Don’t get me wrong, it was good! Very good!” His coach protests but Yuuri knows that he’s only trying to make him feel better.

“The step sequence is not entirely regulation,” Yakov says, “They won’t be able to score it.”

“Sorry,” Yuuri repeats helplessly. The Short Program is all about showcasing the required technical elements and he basically _threw away_ one of the elements that’s considered his strength.

 _“Don’t_ apologize.” The Russian coach looks over at Celestino, who shrugs. He stares back at Yuuri again, “Watch my skater, he’s favorite to win Juniors.”

Plisetsky does his step sequence, then launches into a quad salchow, landing it cleanly. Several high-pitched yells echo against the ceiling and there’s a rush of people to the boards, all trying to take pictures or selfies. They scream Yuri’s name.

 _Even Juniors can land it cleanly now._ Yuuri’s shoulders droop.

“WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT ATTEMPTING QUADS!” Yakov roars over the noise of the crowd.

“Not while trying to win gold! DO YOU SEE ANY GOLD HERE?” Yuri yells back, in the middle of a step sequence that hit the ice like a metronome. His arms swing out in counterpoint.

Yuuri squints. He can’t make sense of Plisetsky’s routine; it’s in common time, like most music, but there is almost no rubato in the skater’s form. He’s not sure where or what the melody line is.

“Do you see?” Yakov asks him.

“Huh?” Yuuri must have missed something while he was watching the other skate.

Yakov leans down, looming over him despite being four feet away, and narrows his eyes, “His step sequence. _Do you see?”_

 _Is this what it feels like to be interrogated by the KGB?_ Yuuri wants to clutch at his heart.

Celestino looks up at the ceiling and sighs. “Yuri Plisetsky’s the favorite to win the Junior Grand Prix by a wide margin,” his coach says as if quoting from a news source. “His debut in the Seniors next year is greatly anticipated. He’s said to be the next Nikiforov.”

Yuuri wants to shake his head in denial that someone could replace Viktor, but has to admit, “His jumps are amazing.”

Celestino looks over at him in disbelief and then glances at Yakov as if saying, _You see what I have to deal with?_

He takes his glasses off to clean them, watching the surface intently as he wipes them, not wanting to see their faces. Yuuri knows he needs to be better, he doesn’t need Celestino to air it out in front of another coach.

“Katsuki. What do you think of his step sequences,” Yakov says abruptly as Plisetsky slides to a halt near them.

Yuuri hums, looking down. Well, maybe he could at least say something useful. He places his glasses on top of the boards and stares at it. “Your extensions are weak. It’s like you forget about your feet if they’re not touching ice.”

Yuri’s face, when he looks back up, is backlit and difficult to make sense of between his near-sightedness and the glare off the ice. It makes it easier to keep speaking.

“You seem to forget about your hips entirely,” Yuuri frowns, “And the arms in that one part,” he slides away from the boards and demonstrates, “seems a half-beat or so slow to the footwork. Maybe. I’m not sure.” He runs his hand through his hair, thinking, “It could follow the melody line, I don't know your music.”

And since they weren’t rinkmates, he’s not even sure what music Plisetsky is familiar with, to use as an example.

Oh.

“Hold on, you’ll know this song,” and Yuuri skates further towards center ice. It is getting crowded with other competitors but there’s enough space where he can perform the choreographic sequence of—

[ _Stammi vicino_ ](https://youtu.be/E_P0dSlx5CQ?t=117)  
[ _Non te ne andare_](https://youtu.be/E_P0dSlx5CQ?t=117)  
[ _Ho paura di perderti_](https://youtu.be/E_P0dSlx5CQ?t=117)

—and then he breaks off and heads back to Plisetsky.

“Slowed down it looks like,” Yuuri raises his arms, “ _‘Stammm... miii’…”_  he says, matching movement to syllable, he opens his arms wide. _“ ‘Viii... ciii... nooo’…”_ then windmills them and he spins carefully, the footwork being _much_ harder to control slowed down than at full speed. “The free leg during _‘vi ci no’_ match with the arms, even if it’s not raised that high. The shoulders flow with the rotations, even if it makes balancing more difficult. Same with the hips at _‘Non teee... ne andare’,_ you can’t cut corners and…”

Yuuri pauses. Skates closer. Squints.

“What?” he asks them.

Celestino’s face is in his hand and he’s laughing, “What did I say about practicing things when I’m not there?”

“I didn’t do the jumps!” Yuuri protests.

His coach looks at him.

“I made them triples,” he mutters at the ice.

Okay, so maybe he should have marked them with singles. But he’d only pieced together small segments. It’s not like Yuuri could find the time to link together all the little bits he’d practiced in between schoolwork and trying to refine his own programs.

He grabs the water bottle for a drink, wiping off his forehead. Slowing the step sequence down like that was harder than he’d expected but the suspension and the control he’d needed ends up being good practice. It reminds him a little of center work at the ballet studio.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT??” Plisetsky yells.

The teenager can wait a bit. Yuuri keeps drinking because it’s not like other people haven’t tried out Viktor’s routines, but it still makes him flush in hindsight that he just performed it out of the blue like that and he doesn’t really know what to say. He doesn’t want to look over at Yakov or the other skaters on the ice, afraid of their expressions. But he can only drink so much water.

He caps the bottle and puts it down, picking up his glasses. When he slides them on he stumbles, skates nearly slipping out from under him. “W-why are there so many people here?!”

It’s almost as packed as an actual competition, which isn’t normal, and everyone has their phones out. They’re not _all_ looking at him,  but it’s still nerve-wracking because several seem to be taping him.

“YUURI!”

They both look over. A redhead at the entrance to the ice is waving her arm wildly.

“YUURI KATSUKI! CAN I GET A SELFIE WITH YOU?”

He looks over at Celestino who waves him on fondly, “Go on, have fun! The ISU expected some commotion, that’s why we were able to get practice in early. You’ll have reporters who want a statement too.”

Yuuri gulps but it's not like he isn’t grateful for the solo practice time. He clenches his fingers quickly and wishes they were steady. He heads over.

The fan is pressing her phone and her purse at her friend as he gets close. But the next thing he knows, she’s running onto the ice and slip-sliding her way towards him.

 _“Ma’am you’re not allowed—!”_ yells security.

“I love your skating!” She says, vibrating in place, “My friend, she'll take our— _WHOA!”_

Yuuri catches her, barely; she’d turned too quickly trying to point and lost her balance. She’s in a dip. He’s dipping her. And she’s looking up at him, startled.

Then she whips her face towards the boards and flashes a victory sign.

“SELFIE!”

He looks up in shock and is blinded by the flashes.

 

—

 

 **Nikifanforever** @nikifanforov ･ **3hr ago**

I planned for a YEAR and #ViktorNikiforov isn’t even here. my whole trip is ruined. I should ask for my damned money back **#GPF**

Replies 30     Retweets 33     Likes 12

 

 **Viktor Nikiforov** @v-nikiforov ･ **1hr ago**

(3/3)travel just for me! My bestfriends&bestskaters also at **#GPF** Catch in selfie, I’ll RT/reply faves! Tag **#GPFSelfieChallenge** @nikifanforov

Replies 163      Retweets 522      Likes 372

 

—

 

**GOLDENSKATE**

**Forum > The Arena > Fan Fests > Yuuri Katsuki**

**iSkateCovers** (Bona Fide Member)

Several people on twitter have posted this part of GPF open practice from different angles; this [link] was the best I could find.

...Is it me or did Katsuki just skate Stammi Vicino? At least a bit of it? IT LOOKS AMAZING?? _HOW MUCH DOES HE ALREADY KNOW BY HEART?_

 

 **DonKatsu** (Tripping on the Podium)

IT’S BARELY BEEN SIX WEEKS SINCE NIKIFOROV FIRST SKATED THAT IN THE QUALIFIERS WHEN DID HE FIND THE TIME.

 

—

 

“The officials have been notified,” Yakov says as he guides Yura and Yuuri out of the rink. Security guards help them carve through the mob of fans and reporters. “They’ll increase security for the rest of event.”

“I’ll handle the press,” Celestino returns grimly, “You’ll get them to the grApple Store? We need to talk to Viktor.”

“Yes.” Yakov gets into the taxi with the boys and yells instructions in Russian to the driver. “We’ll meet you back at the hotel.”

Katsuki seems frazzled but Yakov doesn’t know what to say. The boy seems to veer wildly between blank stoicism and nervous wreck. Even when Yakov compares Katsuki favorably to _his own skater,_ let alone the carefully modulated praise from the normally effusive Italian coach, the Katsuki seems to just brush it all off. Is it just culturally based humility? Or the fact that all of them are translating into English? Something being lost in translation?

The teenager is staring sullenly out the window on his side of the car. The RSF had been pressuring ISU officials to accommodate their need for extra rinktime, anticipating publicity demands on their practice time, being the coach and rinkmate of the missing Nikiforov. That morning they’d arrived even earlier to practice than Celestino and his skater. Yura had already completed a clean run-through by the time they watched Katsuki stagger in, half-asleep, nearly tripping onto the ice.

Yura had scoffed at the unprofessionalism, all but buzzing the Japanese skater on his cooldown laps while the other warmed up.

“STOP THAT,” Yakov had ordered, and held out a water bottle.

The Junior skater came over to grab it as Celestino called out for his student to perform his own program, and, as Katsuki began it, Yakov started mentally preparing himself to watch a bad fall. The boy seemed half-awake and skated with apathy so intense that he didn’t take it for being part of Katsuki’s program; Yakov had looked up the Japanese skater’s short program last night, and while the elements were the same the mood made it nearly unrecognizable.

But maybe something had clicked for the skater. The apathy made the triple axel look like he was floating, weightless.

He landed it like the first gentle drumbeat from Tchaikovsky’s 1812.

He proceeded to create, wholecloth, a chorus of brass and strings and cannon fire; with nothing but movement and the _snnnnnik_ of ice being cut.

The part of Yakov Feltsman that has been a coach for over half his life noted the technical flaws, the balance issues during jumps, the unscorable freestyling during the last step sequence.

The part of Yakov that decided to be a skater at fifteen years old whispered, _This. This is why._

When he had looked over at Yuri Plisetsky and took in his face, Yakov had thought, _You understand now perhaps, the challenge._

He’d banned the Junior skater from attempting quads not only in deference to his growing body but to encourage attention towards his PCS. But the Ice Tiger’s jumps were so crisp and smooth that judges seemed to confuse that artistry with actual performance and inflate Yuri’s PCS unreasonably.

He’d encouraged Katsuki to tear into Yura’s step sequence as a necessary wound.

But the Japanese skater’s rendition of even that small part of Viktor’s choreography...

Over the years, Yakov gets the vague sense that Midas had touched Vitya at some point and replaced flesh with gold. The boy had come to him at ten years of age and told him, _I will give myself to skating._ So much gold have returned to Russia because of it.

But Yakov finds himself uneasy at the memory of that short step sequence. The movements had been almost the same technically, so assured and fluid that Katsuki _must_ have started practicing since Vitya debuted the program at the qualifiers, less than three months ago. But something of the emotion in it was unlike that of any other time Yakov had seen it performed by Viktor Nikiforov himself.

_How much flesh had been turned into gold?_

And perhaps that might answer the question in everyone’s minds these past days: _Why did Viktor Nikiforov disappear?_

For Yakov, even more specifically: _Why did Vitya decide to disappear to_ Katsuki’s _hometown? Why not back to St. Petersburg? Or back to his empty family home in Valdivostok?_

As they exit the taxi to head into the store, Yakov watches Katsuki Yuuri’s back.

Stay there long enough, for anyone, and the truth falls out.

 

—

 

The Sochi grApple Store is much like all grApple Stores everywhere: glass, chrome, pale wood, and a lot of white surfaces. It is familiar and friendly in its sameness, absolutely nothing like the horde of flashing cameras and clicking phones and screaming fans that had become the rink ever since he’d dipped the girl, nothing like the packed crowd of reporters and cameramen and millions of questions that he couldn’t answer, nothing like not being able to breathe. Not being able to move. Not being able to figure out what to say.

This, he can handle. It’s Fine. It’s good, he’s good. Yuuri moves immediately to a waiting staff member near the front, one who is holding a tablet. Yuuri has his question prepared, he can do this.

“Moron, what are you doing?” Yuri grumbles at him and drags him towards the counter along the back instead, one hand tapping at his phone.

“Getting...in line?”

“Is this a Japanese thing?” The teenager squints at him briefly, and then gets in the faces of several Genius Bar employees, “Let me talk to your manager.”

“Sir I really—”

Plitsetsky shoves his phone towards them at eye-level. “I’m Yuri Plisetsky, verified. Normally one twitter endorsement from me costs 29,000 rubles, but we’re trending. _Let me talk to your manager.”_

There’s a mad scramble to the back room.

“I thought we were here to buy a new phone?” Yuuri asks.

“I said I’d _get_ you a new phone, never said I’d have to _pay_ for it.”

“But—”

“It’s the Ice Tiger of Russia!” The manager rushes forward, stars in her eyes, “What brings you here?”

“We need to replace my phone. I only need it to hav—” Yuuri loses his breath, elbowed by the teen.

“It’s good to meet a fan here,” a smile warps the boy’s face awkwardly. Then Plisetsky says, “But here’s what I think: Three phones, with max GB storage and accessories, should cover the amount of a twitter endorsement.”

The manager’s face becomes professional as she leans back and crosses her arms. “Anyone here can take a picture right now and tag for location. One phone at max storage, no accessories.”

“But how long do you want us stay around for?” Plisetsky shot back, “And does it guarantee a retweet by _Viktor Nikiforov?_ Three max storage phones, and at least two Shiure SE846’s. And powerbanks.”

Yuuri doesn’t think his eyes can get any wider as he looks over to where the Shiure headphones are locked behind a glass cabinet. There’s a little placard with the price.

[ _US$1003.72_ ](https://www.amazon.com/Shure-Isolating-Earphones-Definition-MicroDrivers/dp/B00DIUGW6A/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1487665319&sr=8-1&keywords=shure+se846)

What.

Yuuri looks over at Yakov who just looks back, grumpy but silent. He guesses this must be normal.

 _Must be nice,_ Yuuri muses, _to be that famous._

They both watch as the haggling gets more intense, but also quieter and more discreet, as the noise around them increases. Hidden in the shadow of Yakov’s bulk, it feels like being in a quiet unseen bubble.

“Mr. Feltsman,” Yuuri finally has to ask, “What’s he talking about; we’re trending? What’s Viktor retweeting?”

Yakov looks to him and sighs, “Right, you’re out of the loop without a phone. Thought you’d asked Yuri before now.” And he takes his cell out and opens twitter.

 

—

**#GPFSelfieChallenge**

26 new results

In reply to sansFranciscan

 **Viktor Nikiforov** @v-nikiforov ･ 2m

Extra points for bravery! @francoischan **#GPFSelfieChallenge** #MicheleCrispino #SaraCrispino #tagatownrisk    

> **sansFranciscan** @francoischan
> 
> Found the siblings! #MicheleCrispino #SaraCrispino **#GPFSelfieChallenge** @v-nikiforov
> 
> [small image: The rink is in the background as skaters are practicing and fans are watching open practice. Foreground, a guy next to Sara Crispino next to Michele Crispino who is glaring at him over Sara’s head.]
> 
> Replies 6   Retweets 141   Likes 311

 

In reply to David Hali

 **Viktor Nikiforov** @v-nikiforov ･ 20m

;D @christophe-gc asked for a copy of that first pic didn’t he? @halicodave #myfansarebeautiful #staysafe **#GPFSelfieChallenge**

Replies 9   Retweets 40   Likes 11

 

Viktor Nikiforov retweeted

 **David Hali** @halicodave ･ 26m

I never expected his reaction though! #ChristopheGiancometti **#GPFSelfieChallenge** #idontdothesethingsusually #wow #best **#GPF** #ever @v-nikiforov  

> [ photo collage, first image: Nervous smile and thumbs ups from a guy while, over his shoulder, Christophe Giancometti is seen bending over to take off his skate guards; his ass looks _fantastic._
> 
> Second image: Christophe turning around in surprise.
> 
> Last image: Super closeup of Christophe hugging the guy as they both grin and wave victory signs.]

Replies 27   Retweets 347   Likes 702

 

In reply to J’aime Katsudon

 **Viktor Nikiforov** @v-nikiforov ･ 30m

Best selfie yet! @jaimeky Cheer on my rinkmate #YuriPlisetsky! **#GPFSelfieChallenge** #howthirstyareyou @yurikatsuki

Replies 3   Retweets 29   Likes 43

 

Viktor Nikiforov retweeted

 **J’aime Katsudon** @jaimeky ･ 31m

Since you’re at Katsuki’s family onsen, @v-nikiforov #howthirstyareyou @yurikatsuki **#GPFSelfieChallenge** #YuriPlisetsky #itsnotfujuwaterBUT   

> [fullsize image: Girl in front with a victory sign at open practice. Behind her, Yuri Plisetsky yelling at Katsuki Yuuri as Katsuki is drinking water, head tilted way back, throat long.]

Replies 10   Retweets 555   Likes 676

 

—

 

Yuuri numbly lets the phone be taken from his unresponsive fingers.

“Mr. Feltsman! Can we get a statement from you on Nikiforov’s plans?” A reporter is suddenly in front of them.

“No. At the moment you should focus on Yuri Plisetsky’s competition.”

“Is there any truth to the rumors that Georgi Popovich will fill in for Nikiforov due to the RSF pressuring event organizers?”

Yakov breathes in and his face grows red and Yuuri backs away, anticipating the yelling. He turns around only to find himself cornered by two more reporters, one tall and one short.

“Skater Katsuki, can you comment on why Viktor Nikiforov appears to be vacationing at your family’s inn?” the shorter one asks, tinged with a Russian accent.

“Do you know why he has left his commitments to the Grand Prix Event?” the American presses, holding a recorder to Yuuri’s face, “Has he said anything to you about his future plans? What does he mean by ‘a break’?”

Yuuri holds up his hands, trying for some room, “I found out via… via twitter like everyone else.”

“He seems close to your family.”

“What sort of relationship do you two have? Everyone’s seen the video from open practice earlier today, _Stay Close to Me_ , right? That’s what you were skating?”

“E-everyone’s seen—?” Yuuri says, “But I’ve never even talked to him! I don’t know what you’re implying.”

The reporters’ phones buzz with notifications and they look down at them simultaneously.

One eyebrow arched high, the American turns his screen towards Yuuri so he could read it.

 

 **Viktor Nikiforov** @v-nikiforov ･ 9s

Vicchan has two daddies! #custodybattle #faito! @yurikatsuki 

> [first image of poodle selfie gallery: Viktor with Vicchan draped over his shoulder, holding up and pointing at a dog registration]

 

“I don’t… what he’s doing! _Is that Vicchan’s registration?_ He’d, Viktor he’d— We’d thought he kidnapped my dog. My family’s never even met him!”

The phones buzz.

 

 **Viktor Nikiforov** @v-nikiforov ･ 8s

She told me to call her okaasan! ~❤ #blessed #adopted #KatsukiHiroki 

> [image: selfie of Viktor and… his mother?! _Pressed cheek to cheek._ ]

 

“Not before this, I mean. He’s, I— I looked up to him like most skaters do but I didn’t even think he knew my _name—”_

_Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt!_

 

 **Viktor Nikiforov** @v-nikiforov ･ 10s

family showing me bby pictures!!! omg look (1/?) #toocute #omg #best #KatsukiYuuri #watchhimskate  

> [image gallery: Y-shirted tiny skater crying on the ice, tiny skater rubbing red face with one hand and getting up, tiny determination skating!]

 

 **Viktor Nikiforov** @v-nikiforov ･ 10s

(2/?) Can you even believe #wow #wannabitethosecheeks #babypictures #KatsukiYuuri 

>   
> 
> [images: [ baby in white pj’s with a shrimp nigiri tied to his back ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/26/44/b9/2644b9a225599b7bcadbf5ac4d7291fb.jpg)]

 

 **Viktor Nikiforov** @v-nikiforov ･ 10s

(3/?) Aaaaaaaah!! ))))) #babypictures #KatsukiYuuri #shook 

> [image: pantsless toddler sitting on a training toilet holding a cooking magazine]

—

**18 new results**

—

 

Yuuri stares in horror at the galleries of pictures of himself, in a piglet onesie. In some, [the butt flap is down](http://yajeb95.tumblr.com/post/159221692157/from-the-fanfic).

_Sometimes when backed into a corner, an athlete can act completely unexpectedly._

Yuuri looks at the American reporter, feeling hollowed out and weirdly energized, “Hey, do you lift?” He eyeballs the man.

“Huh?”

 _“Do you lift?_ Do you think you can lift him?” Yuuri pointed at Plisetsky. “Actually nevermind, you probably can’t. This will work better if I do it.”

“Wh—”

Yuuri stalks up to the Ice Tiger of Russia and interrupts the haggling.

“Yuri Plisetsky. How do you feel about lions?”

 

—

 

In reply to genius bar sochi

Katsuki Yuuri @yurikatsuki ･ 1s

The king is dead. Long live the king. #YuriPlisetsky #Circleoflife **#GPFSelfieChallenge**   

> **grAppleStore Sochi** @gr-applestore_sochi ･ 4s
> 
> NAAAAAAAANts~ingonYAAAAAA…mabagithi~babaaa!! **#GPFSelfieChallenge** #HeirToTheKing #Circleoflife
> 
> [image: a overhead shot of crowd of people at a grAppleStore, their face upturned and smiling. You see the back of a dark haired male on some platform, presenting a small blond to the crowd, hands underneath his armpits.]

 

 **genius bar sochi** @gr-applegenius_sochi ･ 2s

Ingonyama nengw' enamabaal! (it's a lion and a tiger!) **#GPFSelfieChallenge #GPF** #theheirarrives #IceTiger #YuriPlisetsky #YuriKatsuki 

> [video taken from a drone: flyby of an enormous crowd of people taking selfies, above them Yuuri is mid-lunge on a countertop, [Russia’s Ice Tiger dangling from his hands by the armpits](https://68.media.tumblr.com/8ab0718b9346d2e803c71b5f73cd999e/tumblr_onfcfdVzcY1vwt7ijo1_540.jpg). Yuri’s arms are crossed smugly. The scene helicopters around the pair, taking in the crowd then zooms in on a group singing “Circle of Life” to a techno beat an enterprising DJ had set up.]

 

—

 

Somewhere in Detroit, Phichit refreshes and gasps. “Yuuri, that’s so _savage.”_

Then immediately goes to check on various forums and SNS because He Must Be Protected.

 

—

 

Somewhere in Hasetsu, Viktor refreshes, presses a hand to his mouth, and stands up. Vicchan is under his other arm. He bows to her deeply.  

“Kaasan, how do we get to your roof?” His eyes sparkle with laughter. “I have a poodle to present to the world.”

“I’ll grab the ladder!” Toshiya cheers, knocking over three bottles of Karen beer.

“I’ll get the paint remover,” Mari sighs and hauls herself up.

Hiroko hums in agreement and amusement and waves them off, busying herself with finding the best filter. _Something with a warm glow, maybe._ She would ask Minako but the dancer is too busying bringing in what looks like half the bottles from her bar.

 

—

 

Multiple somewheres on the internet, fans refresh.

_Pause._

Retweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading and for your lovely comments! They really do encourage me to write more and sometimes things ya'll mention give me ideas for future scenes. Please ask questions on things you feel is unclear or don't be shy about making requests!
> 
>  
> 
> Speaking of comments:
> 
> [I Would Give Even More](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9265919) by aceklaviergavin (http://archiveofourown.org/works/9265919) a fic that, while short, is just beautiful. 
> 
> I want to raise a glass to it and make a toast while gross sobbing but that shit would just get incoherent. There's turns of phrase that just reaches out and shakes me, this one moment where the ice replies, I had to stare a moment, and then read everything over again because it's like staring into the sun.
> 
> Go check the fic out and leave them some love!
> 
>    
> PS. Do NOT pull a Viktor and post people's embarrassing images online without permission. That's extremely out of line and rude.
> 
>    
> Yakov's POV has been edited via reference from [here](http://c0rnfl0wer.tumblr.com/post/158793053134/psa-for-the-yoi-fandom-russian-names-how-to-use) and with c0rnfl0wer's help. THANK YOU! 
> 
>    
> [yajeb95 (Inu_sensei) drew the fanart linked to in the Lion King section!](http://yajeb95.tumblr.com/post/158849888242/from-the-fanfiction-i-read-3-am-in-the-morning-and) GO LEAVE THEM SOME LOVE! 
> 
>  
> 
> [Tchaikovsky](http://queenbeyondthewalll.tumblr.com/post/158811164559) tho:  
> some stagehand probably: mr. tchaikovsky sir we cant actually hit the drum this hard it will break the instrument  
> potyr ilyich tchaikovsky, [wheeling a cannon into the theater](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VbxgYlcNxE8): does it look like i give a fuck, johann


	3. Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so. (3/4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [moonbelowsea](http://moonbelowsea.tumblr.com) for beta. All remaining errors are my own.
> 
> I see alot of fic saying Yuuri goes to Wayne State but since I'm making up companies anyways, for thematic purposes he goes to University of Michigan Ann Harbor which is basically University of Michigan Ann Arbor and University of Detroit smushed together and relocated to the waterline. 
> 
> Incidentally, there also exists a USCLA and a UC Berkford.

**人生のファン** @katsudon4ever ･ 1s

...how strong are his arms tho? #KatsukiYuuri #HeirToTheKing #Circleoflife

 

 **カッツドゥント** @flubmyleapyear ･ 1s

did viktor know what he was doing with #howthirstyareyou I really need to know how he’s punctuating that hashtag, like #freshenyourthirst ?

 

 **私は多く散歩する** @towermybabble ･ 1s

Is anyone going to talk about #KatsukiYuuri #babypictures because I need to scream at someone about them plz halp I’m shook I can’t even (1/13)

 

—

 

“I still can’t believe Viktor posted my baby pictures.” Yuuri moans, heart pounding frantically, smashing his face against the giant bag full of USB power cables on his lap. The taxi they’re in veers wildly as if in agreement and their driver screams out the window in Russian. People scream back and honk at them. Yuuri knows just how they feel, “No one will ever think I’m cool again.”

 **_Viktor_ ** _will never think I’m cool ever again—_

“Piggy, no one thought that in the first place.” Plisetsky says, thumbing through his new phone with his new headphones around his neck. The bag with the third phone and its accessories sit next to the teenager, who has one arm across it to hold it still; he carelessly mentioned the bag is for his grandpa and Yuuri couldn’t help but find the tone ironic, especially with how carefully the bag’s being guarded as the car swerves.

“...you’re right.” Yuuri despairs, turning his head so his cheek is smashed against the USB instead. Maybe he should just stop trying, it’s clearly not going to work, everyone must see what a mess he is.

“Hey. That was pretty funny back there.” Plisetsky is not looking at him. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I don’t know what came over me.”

Which is a lie.

_Oh my god Viktor’s seen my naked ass. IN A PIGLET ONESIE. MY ASS IN A—_

“Hmm.” There’s a weird twist to the teenager’s face as he reads out-loud “...‘The king is dead. Long live the king’? Pretty ballsy of you to tweet.”

“That’s what people are saying right? You’re the next up-and-coming.”

“Yeah…” Yuri Plisetsky’s mouth is grinning confidently, but his eyes look wild. Strained. He turns away. Checks again that his grandpa’s bag is tucked against his side.

Yuuri watches for a moment.

It makes Yuuri say, “Your jumps are amazing.”

The other skater grunts.

“I can’t believe you can already land a quad salchow.” Yuuri says wistfully.

 _“Are you kidding me?”_ For some reason the teenager looks angry and defensive.

Yuuri feels his shoulders rise up and he fiddles his fingers together, “No? I…” He clenches his hands together in sudden determination, “Do you have some tips on landing it better? If you have time. During morning practice tomorrow?”

He’s stared at for a long moment.

Yuuri scratches his cheek and looks down, about to say _nevermind_ but—

“Give me your phone jack, Pig.” He holds out his hand, “you’re listening to my short program. Maybe then you’d say something about my step sequence that makes more sense than some shit about arm movement.”

“I’ll talk to officials,” Yakov cuts in, “Make them feel bad about today’s security, give us extra time on the ice.”

“Um. Ok, then.” Yuuri replies as he sticks the ear buds in. The sound of the outside world suddenly cuts out. He’s never known that it was possible to feel so bubbled in silence, like someone stuck a piece of glass between himself and everything else.

The music plays.

 _Wow these really ARE good,_ Yuuri says. He can only hear himself speak because his chest is vibrating with the sound.

 _I know right?_ He sees Yuri respond.

The teenager smiles at him, small and delighted.

 

—

 

Here is the thing: Yuri Plisetsky loves to win.

He loves to compete, to _crush_ the opponents he goes to war against. He loves being respected. And he’s fortunate that he’s found a career that he both likes and he can make money with; one look at Viktor’s endorsement deals shows Yuri just how much he can get if you’re good enough. He’s not there yet though. He knows this, but doesn’t like knowing it, so he thinks the doubt is just a stupid stray thought and fights against all implications that he’s in any way _lesser,_ any chance he gets.

He might be the youngest at their rink, the shortest, the slightest. But Yuri is better than how that makes him look. He puffs himself up bigger and refuses every single diminutive that they try to stick on him because Yuri refuses let himself be diminished. He is not ‘Yurotchka’ to them, that is his _mother’s,_ that’s his _grandpa’s,_ let alone ‘Yushenka’ or ‘Yegorik’ or ‘Yuroushechka’ or— Everyone needs to _stop fucking playing around._ He’s at the rink to _work,_ doesn’t anyone else understand that? They are not family, he’s not good enough yet to support them if they’re family.

He can’t afford to be part of them.

Here is the thing: Yuri Plisetsky is very careful about his money.

Good skates for international competitions cost in the range of 60,000 rubles, same with costumes even though you can scrape by on less, then there’s rink fees, travel fees, coaching fees, and Yakov (being who he is) costs roughly 11,000 rubles per hour, only half of which Russia subsidizes due to Yuri medaling. Not to speak of paying for Yakov’s hotel and travel during competitions. Even though he’s state-sponsored, the formal programs have been disbanded and the money going into athletics has been waning for years now.

It makes him glad that Viktor at least paid for everyone’s travel and hotel already; even though the rooms are comped by the ISU during the competition, Viktor freaking Nikiforov demanded that they arrive early, by first class, and receive upgraded rooms. Considering the man’s net worth, Yuri feels no guilt about ordering room service on the geezer’s dime to cover breakfast and customized protein shakes.

You can win US$9000 per gold as a Junior skater. Maybe half of that matched by Russia, depending on how prestigious the event is. That barely covers his costs and isn’t enough to send back to his mother and grandpa so he supplements it with social media endorsement deals. However Yuri only has a couple thousand followers (which limits the contracts he can get) and he can’t tweet out endorsements constantly or he’d lose what followers he has.

He needs to be in the senior division already, he needs the visibility and the bigger prizes.

His budget was _not_ prepared for some dumbshit to not even have a waterproof protective case and tempered glass. How does the guy keep his phone from breaking when it's thrown at walls? _Moron._

But Yuri is used to taking responsibility. With his father gone and his grandpa older, he’s in charge of the household. He’s in charge of paying for his own skating, for paying Yakov to coach him. He’s young but he can’t expect help from anyone else, the world is not kind. He’s alone, and he’s fine with it. Really.

So even though he’s never done this before, Yuri sucks it up and talks to the store’s management directly, trying to recall shit that Viktor’s pulled over the years. An endorsement from him barely covers a new phone and he doesn’t have a standing deal with grApple but he hopes that by starting the negotiations high and leaning on how the GPF selfies are trending, he can wiggle out of paying for Katsuki’s phone.

He never expected Yuuri Katsuki— Katsuki who shares his name and who knew enough of Viktor’s program to pull it out as a fucking teaching tool, the Skater with a Glass Heart who makes fucking choreography look like the quads were accessorizing _them_ when everyone knew it was the other way around, Japan’s Ace who had all but _eviscerated_ his step sequence— never expected for _this_ skater to all but name Yuri as Viktor’s heir. He never expected to be presented to the crowd like he’s already good enough. Never expected for the crowd to roar their approval and congratulations and for a party to pretty much break out in his honor; someone turned on the disco lights and a DJ set up his bluetooth speakers and every time someone caught his eye, they shouted, “The Heir!”

The DJ throws him a thumbs up like an officer’s salute.

The manager, ecstatic, ends up writing off all Yuri’s original demands and then some, shaking his hand as if Yuri is a peer.

Katsuki asking for his help on a quad. Looking at him like his opinions matter. Face still amazed at the sound quality of the headphones Yuri recommended.

As he should be. They’re fucking _awesome._

Here’s the thing: It’s really fucking annoying having to deal with two people having the same name.

Or almost the same name; he knows there’s an accent in Yuuri’s. But—

“Hey Yakov.”

Yakov looks over, grunts. Yuri pokes the Japanese skater to make sure he’s paying attention. Katsuki removes one headphone.

“Call me ‘Yura’, it’s confusing otherwise. You too, pig.”

To the coach’s credit, Yakov’s surprise barely registers. He simply pauses for a moment, and nods, going back to haranguing the taxi driver to get them back faster.

“Yura,” Japan’s Ace says, testing the sound out. “Did I say it right?”

Yuri nods silently and lets the diminutive settle on him. He doesn’t know what to do with the feeling. He doesn’t know whether to trust it, strange and warm.

Yuuri Katsuki nods back and sticks the headphone back in, face serious as he concentrates on the music.

 

—

 

“At this moment we’ve achieved contact with neither Yuuri’s family nor Viktor Nikiforov,” Celestino repeats once again to yet another reporter, “We will give an update once we get a call to go through; Yuuri and I are as confused as to why Viktor Nikiforov has chosen Yutopia for a retreat as everyone else.”

Celestino knows he can only selectively lean on the phrase ‘no comment.’ If he starves the Fourth Estate too much they’d only turn their teeth towards Yuuri and Celestino refuses to let that happen. They both worked too hard to get Yuuri here, they’re so _close_ to something that the Japanese young man could really build on for his self-confidence, and could really help him understand that he more than deserves to be here, on the international stage.

“He seems very enamored of that poodle he keeps posting.” They both take a brief moment to contemplate the newest round of poodle selfies. _“Vic-chan,_ was it? If I’m understanding Japanese naming convention correctly, did Yuuri maybe name his dog after Nikiforov?”

“Viktor’s been a great inspiration to all the generations of skaters that followed him, I’m frankly surprised there aren’t more poodles with his name.” Celestino says with a laugh, mentally thinking, _I’m surprised a pack of them aren’t owned by Yuuri._

“Is Viktor seeking to forcibly adopt Yuuri’s pet, do you think?” the reporter asks lightly, looking up.

Celestino’s eyes narrow, “That tweet was a joke, I’m sure.”

“I heard a rumor that Nikiforov stole the dog—”

“Unfounded, certainly.” Celestino interrupts, “We run in the same skating circles, everyone knows each other. Doing such a thing is beyond anything anyone would expect of Viktor.”

“But he loves surprises, doesn’t he?”

“I think you’re trying to create controversy that doesn’t exist,” Celestino says, and then makes his excuses to end the interview.

His phone chimes with new posts and he looks down to have his SNS spammed by pictures… of Yuuri? Baby Yuuri, asscheeks bare to the wind, even.

Celestino groans and wonders if Viktor’s trying to sabotage Yuuri on purpose because there’s no way his skater would react in any positive way to his personal life being plastered everywhere in public like that.

And then his twitter updates.

 

 **Viktor Nikiforov** @v-nikiforov ･ 1s

We decided to enact some Noh Drama! #howthirstyareyou #GoldGoose #art #culture 

> [image: A bottle of Gold Goose sits prominently in the foreground. In the background, the surface of a table recedes like a stage. Two stomachs sit above the table, painted like noh face masks. One is round and happy. The other frowny-browed and rippled, a heartmouth drawn over the belly button.]

 

 _Oh. Viktor’s drunk off his ass then._ Celestino covers his face with his hand, not sure what he should say. It’s not like Celestino has a stone to throw given his tolerance for alcohol tends to leave him passed out in various embarrassing places.

He sighs and wonders how much damage control he’ll need to do for Yuuri’s confidence by the end of this night. Celestino doesn’t regret doing it however; doesn’t regret taking the call from the JSF several years ago, asking him to watch some videos of an up and coming skater. What he saw was a lot of potential, but also a good deal of issues that... Well.

That the JSF even passively brought up the subject to Celestino indicated a skater with great potential.

To be frank, discussions of mental health as far as Celestino understands it is extremely taboo in Japan, not that Italians are much better; Celestino himself is only as conversant with it due to working so much with University of Michigan Ann Harbor’s Sports Medicine division. The school’s nationally ranking Psychology department had been doing a lot of cross-disciplinary studies for years; mostly, Celestino suspects, because the entire school is sports crazy. If it was at all possible to write a senior thesis on the intersection between art in the 14th century and _wolverines,_ then at least three people had done it already. Sports Psychology was just a minor leap in comparison.

Celestino had originally thought that spending some time in America, land of big egos, and some effusive Italian welcome might do a good deal towards solving much of the problem. He looks back at the Celestino of almost five years ago and laughs at himself. The more he welcomed Yuuri, the more the Japanese teen shrank away; Celestino had to learn how to speak softer and without moving his hands and arms. He had to learn how to better mirror Yuuri even though sometimes his Italian enthusiasm escapes him.

He knows he has grown a lot as a coach since taking Yuuri under his wing.

Everything he’d learned about building confidence, found after going around picking the brains of psychologists and coaches and even team captains, he’d tested out on his other skaters first. And they bloomed. Celestino’s reputation had even exceeded his capacity to coach more people, especially now with how Phichit’s grandfather is dangling a frankly ridiculous contract for Phichit’s next season if they move to Bangkok.

Celestino’s been playing around with the idea of inviting Yuuri there to continue being Phichit’s rinkmate. A change of scenery, a country that won’t pressure Yuuri with either its culture or its expectations, and his best friend. What’s not to like?

He thinks it might be best for Yuuri, their progress have plateau’d. The anxiety still gets pretty bad before competitions, and on certain days for unknowable reasons; medications are hit or miss especially as they interact with Yuuri’s diet and supplements, so they’ve been taking things slow and only during the off-season where they’d have room for experimentation. Celestino’s been working with Yuuri to try to make things fun, to believe in himself, and to keep things in perspective.

_It doesn’t matter if you fail one jump! Go ahead and fall, it’ll be okay!_

It doesn’t even matter if he fails a competition, Celestino believes Yuuri can rise out of it and use it to do better; every single expert Celestino’s talked to mentions how important it is to take the fear out of failure. That it is _okay_ to fail. It’s okay to lose.

Just simply keep building on small steps, small successes; Yuuri’s programs this year, while difficult, is _well_ within his capabilities.

Celestino knows that, even done perfectly and with a competitor or two flubbing a jump, the absolute highest Yuuri can place with his current program is Bronze.

 _But that’s fine!_ He knows that Yuuri will take this and use it to drive him.

Celestino has rarely seen the level of hard work that Yuuri puts into his skills, and it’s only Yuuri’s first time at the Grand Prix Finals! Viktor Nikiforov himself didn’t even start consistently making Gold until he was in his early twenties, and that’s with a major injury. Yuuri has stamina to spare, a clean injury record, and the willpower to have made a decision in his teens and then stick to it with some truly fiendish focus. Celestino honestly feels like he has a legend in the making, something to challenge other legends with, even if Yuuri has less charisma than Phichit does in his left toe. If everything falls into place, this next off-season should have him coaching _two_ skaters in Bangkok who’ll hog international podiums and help support and egg each other on.

They just need to get through these Finals first.

His phone buzzes.

_...is that Yuuri holding up Plisetsky?_

The conference room is suddenly buzzing with reporters again, talking into microphones and recorders.

“—posted with ‘the king is dead’.”   

“Hashtag circle of life.”

“....declaring Russia’s next living legend...”

“...at the Sochi grApple Store Japan’s Ace and Russia’s Ice Tiger...”

“The Glass Heart Cutting Russia?”

“...seen earlier today mentoring the Junior division skater.”

“Contentious tweet implying that—”

“Celestino! Can we get a comment? Is Yuuri saying Viktor will not be returning to skating?”

“Coach, is Katsuki giving a vote of confidence to Yuri Plisetsky’s senior debut?”

“Is Yuuri Katsuki declaring war on Russia? Is this the next stage of Russo-Japan relations?” asked a Routers representative.

“...would that make Plisetsky the Kuril Islands?” the Komersant reporter muses.

“Maybe he’s the Treaty of Portsmouth?” the New Yorkers shot back.

“OR MAYBE you are all looking too much into it,” Celestino says flatly. “Plisetsky’s _fourteen,_ just a teenager pulling a stunt, and while my skater is twenty-three, may I remind everyone of their own college years?”

“But the _storyline!”_

Celestino tells them, “I believe those photos are taken from a grApple Store which means we should be making contact with Yu-topia soon. Let me get in contact with my skater.”

And then goes to hide in the bathroom.

He texts Yuuri to text him when they are heading back.

He texts the groupchat he has all his skaters on and urges restraint. He texts Phichit _again,_ separately, to repeat himself in different words.

He texts a short diplomatic response to all the news representatives that blew up his phone with sudden inquiries and urges them to bring questions to him directly instead of bothering his skater. At least until the competition is over.

He texts Yakov for details, and the other coach responds that they got ambushed by reporters and things got ‘excessive’. Their skaters still need to be extracted from the crowd. Celestino updates him to a summary of the reporter’s reactions.

Yakov responds with a string of ‘angry’ emoji.

Celestino blinks down in surprise.

 **Me :** ?

 **Yakov :** not you. viktor’s twitter

Celestino refreshes it and sees [Viktor Nikiforov presenting a toy poodle](http://yajeb95.tumblr.com/image/158859288447) to a crowd of people arrayed below him, with a smattering of actual news reporters and their cameramen. He appears to be on a roof.

#circleoflife #howthirstyareyou

He keeps refreshing the tags to see the replies and responses and it becomes a photo journal of various angles of the Katsuki’s descending onto the reporters with grins and booze and paint. There’s a Blair Witch-esque video of someone running through gardens to burst into an inn full of people chanting something like “sagan toe sue” then a glass of beer is thrown into the camera and the image cuts out.

A photo of Japanese police at the door, futons in hand. A photo of sake being pressed into their hands and their heads shaking. A video of policemen starting to strip.

A video of Viktor and that poodle barking.

...all right, Celestino is starting to wonder if being coach to a living legend is worth it.

 

—

 

“That’s weird,” Yuuri says and tries to dial another number.

“What, your face?”

“I can’t get ahold of anyone.” Yuuri responds absently, and starts flipping through his texts to see if his family texted him any new numbers since the last time he checked. He finds almost a hundred messages from Phichit but scrolls past most of them, scanning for mentions of his family. Phichit’s mostly ranting about some forum. Yuuri flips open the ones from Celestino instead, who wants to know where they’re at.

He texts back that they’re in the hotel lobby, still walking.

Yuuri dials the onsen again. Puts the phone up to his ear and then realizes that there’s no one in front or next to him.

_Eh?_

When he looks back both Yura and Yakov are staring down at their phones, faces apoplectic.

Yuuri refreshes his feed. He hears Celestino yelling from a hallway and glances up to wave him over, there’s some people following him but Yuuri’s distracted. He looks back down.

“Why is ‘howthirstyareyou’ trending?” He asks.

“Yuuri! Wait—! DON’T—!”

Yuuri clicks on the tag. He doesn’t know what to—

 

—

**#howthirstyareyou**

172 new results

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 **Viktor Nikiforov** @v-nikiforov ･ 30m

(2/2)they insisted! @jaimeky @tw1stnsh0ut **#GPFSelfieChallenge #GPF** #goldgoose **#howthirstyareyou** #likefatherlikeson  

> [Image: Okukawa Minako giving a victory sign, behind her Katsuki Toshiya pointing and laughing at Viktor who is letting a stream of Gold Goose Vodka fall down his throat.
> 
> Second image: Viktor mid-dip, in the arms of Katsuki Toshiya.]

Replies 7   Retweets 547   Likes 602

 

 **Viktor Nikiforov** @v-nikiforov ･ 19m

our version of best selfie runnerup! @halicodave @christophe-gc **#GPFSelfieChallenge #GPF #howthirstyareyou** #KatsukiYuuri

> [image: At the entrance to the inn, lamplight and the glow from indoors pushes back the night. Viktor is at the threshold bending over to take off traditional geta shoes. He’s wearing an indecently short green robe and its neckline slips precariously low along his spine; his _everything_ looks fantastic. The look he’s throwing over one shoulder is nothing short of sultry.]

Replies 18   Retweets 763   Likes 932

 

 **Christophe Giancometti** @christophe-gc ･ 8m

@v-nikiforov oh it’s ON **#GPFSelfieChallenge #GPF #howthirstyareyou**

> [image has been removed for violating terms of service]

 

 **Viktor Nikiforov** @v-nikiforov ･ 1m

No no, you always have to leave the audience guessing @christophe-gc that’s the trick! #hatetowinbydefault **#howthirstyareyou**  

> [image: Viktor is leaning forward behind a low-slung japanese table, practically sprawled on it, bottles around him, passed out bodies vaguely seen on the edges of the image. His forearm is braced on the surface, Gold Goose dangling from his fingertips, hanging off the edge. The bottle is Very Strategically Placed. The table is exactly crotch level, which you can tell because Viktor is wearing nothing but a flush and some streaks of paint on his stomach. On the floor, a puddle of green robes.]

Replies 2   Retweets 368   Likes 1792

 

 **アイスアイボール** @aceofmyheart･ 1m

This is like being sixteen all over again #surpriseboners #idontevengohere **#howthirstyareyou** #Fujuwater

Replies 26   Retweets 15   Likes 90

 

—

 

 _I've_ **_sat_ ** _at that table before..._

 

—

 

“—It’s been a long day,” Celestino smoothly cuts in over Yuuri’s high-pitched noises, “and Yuuri should be focusing on the competition. We request all further questions be held until after the awards ceremony to reduce distractions.”

Yuuri finds himself being pushed gently towards the elevators.

_OH MY GOD Viktor is NAKED at my family’s inn. He’s sitting in the FRONT ROOM. He’s—_

“Yuuri, hey, are you okay?” Celestino peers at him, “Want some water? You look like you’re going to faint.”

An opened bottle is pressed into his hands.

Yuuri looks down.

It’s Fuju brand.

He’s so startled his hand clenches and he gets water _everywhere._ _“I’m really not that thirsty!”_ Yuuri protests, wiping at his glasses futilely, trying to give back the bottle.

“Are you sure?”

There’s a high-pitched giggle and they both whip their heads back over to the hallways. There’s the glimpse of a scarf as it rounds the corner. They both take a moment to think over what that could mean. They look over Yuuri’s clothes.

They pale.

“...what are the chances she didn’t catch that on video?”

Yuuri’s already refreshing his SNS.

And praying.

 

—

 

**812 views**

[video]

 **bnktopping** #KatsukiYuuri ‘s response to #howthirstyareyou #liar #CoachAgrees #FujuWater

view all 19 comments

 **katsudonkokoro** omg? ❤❤❤❤❤❤ #wetpantscontest

 **ice_sexton08** HA such a liar, he gonna need water with all that fapping tonight #lookatdattent

 **ice_sexton08** join the club

 **maikoloveaisu** OMG THIS VIDEO WHAT!!! WHATTTTT! Waaaaaaaaatttt

 **formulafuju** i am ded but my crops are watered my skin is clear

 **ice_sexton07** your ‘crops’, eh?

 **ykfanofficial** thank you for posting this video! Added to our lists

 **haveknifeshoes** omg haha yuuri looks up to viktor but it’s not like that!

 **xavierschoolofice** what are u all talking about, he’s just dehydrated. Katsuki came back from that rave at grApple, u nerds ever been to a rave, you get WRUNG OUT

 **ice_sexton08** someone’s new, check out Viktor’s latest #howthirstyareyou

 **yurimayani** Freshen Your Thirst ❤

 **kyazkyahahaa** stop it guys, we all know yuuri’s shy, don’t make this trend

 **ice_sexton08** u sayin that’s not a chub?

 **aisuskatewrites** omg do u think he’s like that after seeing Viktor’s #howthirstyareyou ???

 **ellygwhelmed** people, please don’t go there, comeon. they don’t even know each other

 **kyasudon** he’s not hard stop it!

 **aisuskatewrites** it’s the internet, they’re celebs. we can speculate. haven’t you seen yuuri’s old interviews? he really admires viktor!

 **ice_sexton08** you mean THAT’s flaccid? damn

 **h8tersl8tersk8ter** care to comment? @phichit+chu

 

—

 

 **me:** TAKE AWAY YUURI’S PHONE RIGHT NOW _(read)_

 **Celestino:** already done. we’ve got this

 **Celestino:** tell everyone at the rink to keep up their practice and STAY OFF SNS

 **Celestino:** don’t escalate

 **Celestino:** i gtg

 **me:** don’t worry _(read)_

 **me:** gonna shut this down _(unread)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I love to write with unreliable POV, specifically in that people are lying to _themselves_ about certain things.
> 
> If you can guess what I kept in mind regarding what Yurio, Celestino, and Phichit are lying to themselves about, I'll write a drabble on the topic of your choice. If no one guesses all three, I'll pick the closest/best answers!
> 
>  
> 
> Re: [Coaching methods](https://hbr.org/2015/02/how-to-coach-according-to-5-great-sports-coaches%20https://www.competitivedge.com/special-what-makes-good-coach). Is pretty consistent tbqh, but there's specific issues that Yuuri has that I'm headcanoning which get in the way of these methods.
> 
> [Crazy sports fans tho.](https://www.google.com/search?client=safari&rls=en&q=university+of+michigan+crazy+sports+fans&spell=1&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjkgvDgmK3SAhVU22MKHbS5CRwQvwUIGSgA)  
>  
> 
> Also, thanks to everyone for reading and commenting! Sometimes things ya'll mention give me ideas for future scenes or for expanding ideas that I would not otherwise, so I feel blessed for every response.
> 
> Speaking of feedback there's several fic I love that I would love to point out:
> 
> [The L Words](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10069508) by nihonlove  
> It's a lovely fic on the various forms of love that Yuuri induces in people and the way they evolve and change and reflect on the relationships and bonds that Yuuri has with the people around him.
> 
> [Fields of Gold](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10442073) by Haro  
> This fic interweaves social media, news articles, and Yuuri's POV through his last skate and it's just an amazing journey through Yuuri's success and the bittersweet conclusion at the end of it all. This is grief and joy married and made transcendent, and it makes my chest literally ache. 
> 
> [janekn](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9640274) by anirondack  
> Lunchtime will probably never change its Gen rating, so ya'll thirsty folk will just have to settle for recs, eh? I KNOW it's hard to comment on smut but smut deserves some love too. Idk, maybe comment with links to Christophe's 'I came' face or something. Japanese emoji happyfaces with spurting... tears, maybe? LOL LIKE, honestly, smut gets so much less comments but more pageviews than other genres, and that's so sad to a smut writer.


	4. Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so. (4/4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you have triggers regarding anxiety, PLEASE read the end notes.
> 
> Sorry for how late this is! RL exploded in my face. I’ve avoided answering certain comments up to now because of spoilers, I was really not kidding with the unreliable narrator tag.

**Detroit (Almost Noon)**

Phichit had already reported the video to instagram, and allowed himself one public comment from his verified account stating that Yuuri wouldn’t appreciate the discussion and asked them to cut it off.

He’s now signed onto one of his alternate accounts, that he uses to test out posts and responses; Phichit had argued, successfully, to both Sociology professors and his grandpa that it provided data for mob mentality in the new hyper-connection of their age. But the reality is: you couldn’t take his SNS from his cold dead hands. And right now he must use his powers for good. Yuuri shouldn’t have to deal with this, not only now before his skate, but _ever._ Because Yuuri doesn’t need people speculating on his dick; but also those people are Wrong.

Phichit’s fingers fly over his phone as he walks to class. He would have skipped it if it wasn’t one of the last sessions before finals which means the professor is going over everything they’ll be tested on. It didn’t help that the man is a stickler for phones and putting them away or be getting kicked out of class.

He sends one last comment telling off ice_sexton08 and slips his phone into his backpack. They’d argued back and forth for awhile, but Phichit kept his cool, making clearly well-reasoned arguments. And he’d just gave the sickest burn.

 _That should do it,_ Phichit thinks.

(He is wrong.)

When he opens his phone after class, ‘Chub or Hung’ is trending in Detroit and Japan.

 

—

 

 **katsudong** @katsudong ･ 3s

MY TIME HAS CUM. #ChubOrHung @bnktopping @ice_sexton08 #BRINGTISSUES

 

 **katsudong** @katsudong ･ 3s

MAY I PRESENT EXHIBIT A http://instagram.com/p/KYbnkt0pp1n9/  #ChubOrHung

[instagram links to bnktopping’s #KatsukiYuuri #howthirstyareyou #wetpantscontest video]

 

 **katsudong** @katsudong ･ 2s

But also consider! #ChubOrHung

[image consisting of four squares of a single spangly crotch shot from Yuuri’s FS, progressively zoomed closer, with white mathmatical symbols getting progressively more complicated]

 

 **katsudong** @katsudong ･ 1s

However! #ChubOrHung #shitson

[image gallery of Yuuri doing an intense i-spiral from various angles, he’s raising his leg in nearly a vertical split, the folds in his pants are...ambiguously large? Is it just the drape or is it Something Else?]

 

 **katsudong** @katsudong ･ 1s

Will a dong at rest stay at rest? #ChubOrHung

[images selectively taken/cropped/zoomed-in from Phichit’s rinkmate selfies. Crotchshots of Yuuri Katsuki in grey sweatpants are marked up with arrows and question marks]

 

 **katsudong** @katsudong ･ 1s

Will r/theydidthemath chime in? #dothemath #ChubOrHung

 

—

 

**(Meanwhile) Sochi (7 pm)**

“It’s barely seven!” Yuuri protests.

“Can you honestly tell me you got more than three or four hours of sleep last night?” Celestino asks gently, Yuuri’s phone still in his hand. They’d just grabbed dinner and were in front of their rooms.

“But my family—”

“Is probably asleep, it’s past midnight over there,” Celestino says. “And we need be at the rink at 5:30. We made the event officials give you and Plisetsky rinktime before tomorrow’s morning practice, due to how Open Practice was cut short for you when you two got mobbed.”

Yuuri looks at him but the coach remains firm. Yuuri drops his eyes. “I should check if that video’s been posted at least.”

“How would that help? If it’s been posted, you’ll keep refreshing for comments. If it _hasn’t,_ then you’ll keep refreshing to see if it _has.”_ Celestino sighs, “Yuuri, we’ll handle it. You need to rest.”

Yuuri finally backs down but is still not sure how he’s going to fall asleep.

 

—

 

 **BuzzFeed   |** News  Videos  Quizzes  Tasty  More 

[ ](https://www.buzzfeed.com/ryanschocket2/here-are-dicks-everyone-wants-to-play-with?)

**20 Reasons It’s Definitely Chub**

Viktor Nikiforov in Various States Of Nudity, A Retrospective

 

—

 

**Sochi, Next Morning (5:35 am)**

“—and then your coach takes your phone for the night?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri mutters as they do laps. He ended up staring at the ceiling last night with his mind tripping front, back, and sideways over the events of the past few days. He would get caught up in worry over his family, and then get derailed by frustration at Viktor, and then get distracted by the memory of that last _(naked!)_ selfie, and then freak out over his baby pictures being online, and circle back again. His mind feels a bit like it’s one of Phichit’s hamsters in its ball, repeatedly crashing against walls, at some point blacking out in sleep even if he’s not sure when.

Yura snorts, “Sounds like Yakov. We went through so much crap to get that phone for you, he should give it back so you could try your family again.”

Yuuri straightens, “I didn’t think of that, let me ask.” He still feels groggy and exhausted, probably why he didn’t think of it, but to be honest he still isn’t exactly looking forward to the call. He still doesn’t know what to say.

But when Yuuri skates over to the boards and explains, Celestino insists that he wants him to get a good practice in, and that that’s more important than whatever is going on in Japan. Yuuri sees Celestino look over Yuuri’s shoulder and shake his head. When Yuuri looks behind him, Yura is nodding and skating off with a serious expression.

_Huh? Did I see that right?_

“Oi Pig! You warmed up yet or what? Show me what you meant about my step sequence!”

Yuuri shrugs it off, and tries not to overthink it, tries not to remind himself about how in roughly fifteen hours the Senior Men’s Short Programs will start, tries to ignore that familiar rolling boil starting up in his stomach, that uneasy prickle at his neck—

“We doing this or not, _Loser?”_ Yura challenges.

Yuuri blinks and eyes the Junior skater, _Really? That again?_ But Yuuri lets it pass, “Show me the sequence?”

The teenager heaves a great sigh, “Yeah _fine.”_ And then Yura skates off to gather some speed before going into his steps after he rounds the far end of the rink.

Yuuri watches and tries to remember the music he heard yesterday. This should be the music’s bridge... but the impression he’d gotten initially remains, Yura wasn’t reaching full extension where he needed to and he was cutting corners on the balance shifts by not fully committing with his hips and shoulders.

“So?” Yura skates back.

Yuuri eyes the other skater and thinks back to what he knows of him. The Junior Men’s Short Program is also today and there’s not that much time to implement the real changes needed but, “During your steps, try it again, but reach twice as far as you think you need to. You’ll feel off-balance, let it. And hmm... I dunno, trust your edges?”

“Trust my _edges?”_ Yura sputters.

Yuuri cringes, “Yeah I _know._ They always say that right? And your jumps look fine! But.” He spreads his hands helplessly; Yura clearly trusts during his jumps, but he doesn’t let the blade hold him as deeply in his step sequences. It doesn’t make his steps as clean as they could be and it also makes it harder to commit when the choreography demands all the balance shifts. Yura will get marked off GOE for that.

“Just try it?” Yuuri asks, and the other skater scowls at him but nods brusquely and goes to try again.

Yuuri counts the elements this time; with Yura’s variety of steps and turns, it’s a level two. The way it was before, even with good energy and speed for a +1, Yura would probably get docked for quality and for not corresponding with the music anywhere from -3 to -4. He would come out a net negative.

This time, the energy and speed is still there, but the quality is a little better. Not only that, Yura’s music is intense, and something about the added difficulty that Yuuri’s asking for makes the _feel_ of the steps different.

He’s trying to pin down what it is when Yura comes out of his steps scowling, and skates back to him, “That felt horrible. I was going to fall the entire time.”

“Ignore that, it’s better. Try it again, but think about reaching even further, even more than twice as far as you usually do.” Yuuri insists and heads back towards the boards when he sees Yakov holding up his phone with two hands. The coach is clearly preparing to tape it.

Yura’s already in position, and starts when Yakov shouts for him to go.

Watching Yura skate this time is like watching someone step off a cliff, onto a thin hair of tightrope. Like the boy might be buffeted by winds, but he’s the only solid thing in a world that whirls around him. The intensity of both his fear and strength licked into the movements; and while it still could be refined further, the choreography finally makes _sense._

“He’s an amazing skater,” Yuuri commends when Yura ends and then goes straight into the next part of his program. To integrate advice so quickly is rare, and a sign of talent.

Yakov stops recording and brings his phone down to stare at him. Celestino on the man’s other side raises an eyebrow.

“The dekes you did yesterday,” Yakov says finally, exchanging a glance with Celestino, “How quickly can you change edges in a rhumba choctaw, and can you give it the same energy?”

“Oh!” Yuuri thinks, “Hm, I could try?”

“Go for it Yuuri, while Yura reviews tape,” Celestino suggests, as the Junior Division skater heads to the boards.

“Let me see,” Yura demands.

Yuuri is already skating away as the Russian coach presses play. He starts in on the back half of his step sequence to work in the rhumba choctaws, once in each direction.

Then he goes through his step sequence from the top except—

There’s a strangled sound and Yuuri darts a glance over towards the boards.

He squints.

_Why is Yura’s face so red._

“SEND ME A COPY OF THAT VIDEO.”

Yuuri smiles and goes back to his steps from the top. He’s glad he could help, Yura’s sequence is much more cohesive now. Small changes sometimes really make big differences.

 

—

 

_I can’t believe Katsuki SAID THAT._

 

—

 

Yakov is observing Yura watching the video of his steps with half his attention, the young skater focused on reviewing tape. It was like pulling teeth previously. Maybe Yura will finally submit to having Dartfish come in and analyze his spins and choreographic jump entries; he’d been strangely intractable for no reason Yakov could see.

It’s not like Yakov wouldn’t make the RSF cover the fees if they were so insistent on pushing Yura into the senior division.

“Ah, _very good!”_ Celestino cheers from beside him, smacking him on the shoulder, and continues in a rush of excited Italian.

Yakov peers over at the other coach.

Celestino just sweeps an arm towards the ice at his skater, “Thank you my friend! That was good advice.”

Yakov just nods it off absently, “Your skater helped mine.”

“But you needn’t have mentioned it, and yet you did!” Celestino beams, his hands sketching out his words, “It’s a bit late to go about making changes to the program but Yuuri’s always been excellent at his steps and making the changes seem to be keeping him focused.”

“You weren’t planning on mentioning it yourself?”

The Italian coach hums and his shoulders visibly collapse a little. He holds his hand out, palm down, and rocks the sides like a seesaw, “It might help or might not; Yuuri likes practicing his jumps excessively before a skate.” Celestino pulls a face.

“Your skaters don’t listen to you?” Yakov raises an eyebrow. Over-practicing would cause fatigue, and failing at a jump repetitively would only hardwire bad habits. And heighten the chance of injuries.

“And yours does?”

Yakov snorts and concedes the point. Then squints at the ice, a thunderstorm growing on his face, “Speaking of jumps— YURA DO NOT REWORK KATSUKI’S SALCHOW.”

“WHY THE FUCK NOT?”

“It’s too close to the competition!” Celestino calls out as well, “We’ll address it after!”

“I MADE A _PROMISE,_ YOU GEEZERS.”

“THERE’S NOT ENOUGH _TIME,”_ Yakov roars, “FIGURE IT OUT LATER. Who’s the coach here?!” He cuts in before Yura could even fully open his mouth, “BECAUSE _I AM_ YOU BRAT. THIS IS WHAT _YOU_ ARE _PAYING ME FOR._ YOU and Russia. For the death of my hair.” He mutters to himself.

Celestino’s _crying_ with laughter, gesturing wildly at him to stop, and Yakov sideeyes him before shaking his head.

“Good to see you’re still you,” Yakov says, remembering the Celestino from roughly 15 years ago. The man had been as ridiculous as this current year’s crop of Italian skaters, loud and effusive. Yakov had been wondering if coaching had beaten all the bombastic from the skater, bound away as much as Celestino’s hair has become, but it appears to have just been in hiding.

“What was that?” Celestino wipes at his eyes merrily.

“Nothing.”

Yakov waves it off. The other coach laughs again and then shouts some encouragement to his skater, adding that he could put more speed into that chocktaw. Katsuki just nods with a serious expression and integrates the advice on the next pass.

Celestino sighs, “He’s so easy to coach at times. And then things—”

Their phones buzz with notifications.

They blink at each other, and look down.

 

—

 

 **katsudong** @katsudong ･ 1s

r/theydidthemath pulled through! #ChubOrHung #themeasureofakatsuki #theydidthemath @bnktopping @ice_sexton08 #YuriKatsuki

 

—

 

**reddit ALL**

[hot]  new  rising  controversial  top

 

[rank 1] » 805 upvotes » [Self] The Measure of a Katsuki, a Response to #ChubOrHung

submitted 10 minutes ago by Sk8Chaps82 (Gold)x2 to r/theydidthemath

 **44 comments**  share  save  hide  report

 

—

  


**Accidental Dick, The Re-Dickening!** [ **10 MORE Times Athletes Showed Their Juicy Junk To The World Without Knowing It!** ](http://perezhilton.com/2015-06-12-lebron-james-david-beckham-penis-flash-tv)

Filed under: [ Oops!](http://perezhilton.com/category/oops/)  •  [Zportz](http://perezhilton.com/category/zportz/)  •  [Yuri Katsuki](http://perezhilton.com/category/yuri-katsuki/)  •  [LeBron James](http://perezhilton.com/category/lebron-james/)  •  [NFL](http://perezhilton.com/category/nfl/)  •  [Carmelo Anthony](http://perezhilton.com/category/carmelo-anthony/)  •  [NBA](http://perezhilton.com/category/nba/)  •  [Peen ](http://perezhilton.com/category/peen/)

 

The original [ Accidental Dick!](http://perezhilton.com/2015-06-12-lebron-james-david-beckham-penis-flash-tv#.WQwkLRiZN3R) post clearly needs an update with all the dickery that’s been happening around the athletic world. At the top of our list is the twitter trendsetter Mr. [ #ChubOrHung](https://trends24.in/) himself, Yuri Katsuki...

 

—

 

Celestino pales.

Yakov claps him on the back. “Good luck with that.”

 

—

 

A commotion happens over at the boards and Yuuri looks over. He can vaguely tell that Celestino is yelling at Yakov about something and the Russian coach is laughing. Then they’re both covering their faces and laughing. It’s kind of nice to hear; for whatever reason, Ciao Ciao over the years became more restrained around him.

Yuuri sees the coach sometimes trash talking and joking around with his rinkmates or with the hockey players sharing the ice. And honestly, Yuuri could do without all the chirruping, he gets enough of it in his own head. But it still makes him feel a little bit awkward that Celestino holds himself differently around him. That the coach has to make such consessions to help him feel better because Yuuri’s so mentally weak.

 _Around 12 hours until the short program,_ Yuuri thinks. His stomach feels tight, a high pitched shrieking, and his heart is ramming itself up his throat. Maybe he should practice some jumps to settle it down—

A man wearing a dark hoody walks in. Yuuri stares.

_Is he supposed to be here?_

Yuuri gets the distinct impression that he’s the sort of guy you’d meet in the streets of Detroit, walking down a dark alley, coming up on you fast, looming a bit, crowding in a little, and pressing a small baggie with a homemade CD into your hands, saying, “Hey, give this a listen, aiight? No pressure; but you like it, get ‘em to play it at a club. Pass it ‘long? To Em, yeah? Have ‘im take a look. Cool? We cool? Have a nice day!”

That sorta guy.

“[Hey](https://youtu.be/Sdz2oW0NMFk?t=1m12s), it’s the DJ,” Yuuri says. Yura’s drifted over too.

The guy frowns.

Yuuri shrinks back a little. “Ah, sorry? I don’t think we caught your name?”

“It’s Otabek,” he replies shortly. “The ISU flew me in yesterday.”

“Oh you’re—” _the replacement skater for Viktor,_ Yuuri did not say because he didn’t know how to say it politely. “From Kazakhstan? Isn’t that far?” He cringes at himself for how awkward that was.

The other skater shakes his head, “Missed open practice due to the flight, they let me have ice time this morning to make up for it. And I represent Kazakstan,” Otabek looks away, and says almost defiantly, “but my family’s from Uzbekistan. I grew up there.”

“Oh.” Yuuri feels extremely awkward at the mistake, opens his mouth to apologize again but—

“And now we’re wasting icetime; [are](https://youtu.be/8LhCd1W2V0Q?t=1m12s) you gonna spot my steps, _pig,_ or not?” Yura speeds off back to center ice.

“He’s [ never](https://youtu.be/dQw4w9WgXcQ?t=42s) gonna let that go is he,” Yuuri sighs at the nickname but feels a bit fond, still. He glances at Otabek, who’s frowning again. “You’re welcome to join us?”

The man nods, and takes off his skate guards. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Yuuri replies awkwardly, and skates back to center ice as well, trying not to feel like he’s retreating.

 

—

 

Practice is too short. It’s always too short, never enough time. Yuuri watches the Junior skater float effortlessly into his jumps, younger than him and already better. Yuuri watches Otabek whisk with confidence into his program as if he’d been prepared all along, expressive and precise, as if he wasn’t given less than a day’s notice and jetlagged and with no time to practice and—

_He’s so out of his league._

—there is a sick feeling emptiness crawling up his insides. He can barely look at people straight. Skaters are coming in for morning practices. Reporters are coming in for last comments.

Yuuri has none.

 _You’re doing well!_ Celestino encourages, _That’s just what you should say! ‘No comment!’_

_Yuuri’s always lying. No one can tell, yet. They will someday._

_Today, probably. They’ll find out today._

_Unless they already know._

_They probably already know._

Morooka finds him and gives him encouragement. Yuuri smiles and thanks him and his words sit like a barrel to his back. Morooka is too nice.

_Japan’s Ace. I know I am. They call me that. I know I am better than everyone else at Nationals but._

_But there’s not that much competition there._

Yuuri knows that his balance is still off on his landings. There a little bit of looseness in the choreography to give him more prep and recovery time but it weakens how well the program fits with the music. If his landings are fine it weakens his choreography. If he pushes the limit with his steps it gives his jumps very little margin of error.

_If I don’t push the limit, why am I even here. Why do I pretend to even know anything._

_Did I even say anything useful to Yura._

There is no room in his chest for his lungs and Yuuri is taking small breaths to not disturb anything. Trying to keep his heartrate down. Looking down at lunch knowing he needs the energy.

He swallows it like chewed up glass.

Somehow it’s already 2pm. Yuuri doesn’t know how the time flew so fast, _he’s not ready._

His competition starts in just 8 hours, he mentally runs through his skate again, arm positions, head positions, fingers, hips, legs. Testing his expression on reflective surfaces when he thinks he can get away with it. He wants to bounce his leg. Doesn’t. He wants to turtle into his jacket. Doesn’t.

The show starts off the ice.

_Back straight, shoulders down, head up._

_People are watching._

Yuuri wants to throw up. (Doesn’t.)

Ice dance and Junior pairs and Junior ladies float by on the ice. They are all amazing.

It clogs up Yuuri’s throat.

Junior men are up, and Yura finishes first by a large margin. Yuuri would have to tell him to push his steps once he enters Senior division, the teenager’s still cutting corners. Also he’s clearly not feeling the music, and that’s fine if he doesn’t but he needs to at least _try._

Yuuri nods in acknowledgement at Yura as the Junior skater leaves the Kiss and Cry, and Yuuri doesn’t know how someone could light up while their face scowls harder but Yura manages it.

When Yuuri catches up to him, Yura points dramatically in Yuuri’s face and proclaims, “Like I said, GOLD.”

“Looking forward to it.” Yuuri says flatly. The free program will be in two more days and they’ll find out how Yura will place, Yuuri would bet Yura would get it though. There’s no one else in the Junior Division in the finals who come close.

Celestino for some reason dashes between them and herds everyone off to dinner before Yura could get more than a sentence or two out about Russia being properly represented for once. Yakov is talking to a dozen reporters at once at the other end of the room, very loudly, and almost pointedly ignoring them.

The Russian coach meets up with them later at the restaurant for dinner futively, hat pulled low, scarf up, and heaves a great sign as he removes them both.

It’s about 4 hours until competition, and Yuuri saws at his chicken with his fork until it’s become unrecognizeable mash. Pushes his plate away.

Celestino eats it for him.

Yura suddenly darts his head up over the booth, then ducks down and yanks at Yuuri until they were both below the back of the seat.

“We’ll meet you back at the rink,” he hisses to their coaches. “Scott Hamilton’s here. Come on, let’s go.”

“Are you _running?”_ Yuuri’s very confused.

“You telling me you can look that man in the eye right now?” The teenager challenges him.

Yuuri’s feeling all of a sudden very young. “...let’s go.”

They slip out of the restaurant and are soon in a cab heading back to the rink.

“You ready to be smeared across the ice in a couple hours?” Yura taunts.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Yuuri mutters to himself, thinking of past competitions. They’ve managed to keep his programs mostly clean this season, but his history is a compilation of bad spills and ramming himself face first into the boards. Landing his quads always felt like a breath of luck guided it. He wants to be good enough that he’d _know_ it’s skill, to know them like he knows his triples, instead of leaning on luck.

“Just skate clean for once,” the teenager says to the window, “It’d be a surprise.”

 _A surprise?_ Yuuri blinks, taken aback. It’s not like he’s _never_ skated cleanly, he’s done it plenty of times in practice. Why is this Junior skater saying it like it’s impossible. Because it’s not.

Hearing the words out-loud makes the untruth obvious.

Because Yuuri’s practiced so many hours, days, years, to get to this day. He’s practiced until he’s black and blue and bloody to make it to the same ice as Viktor. He’s practiced until it’s _clean,_ and until Phichit wailed that he should be allowed to record and post it, _comeon Yuuri please,_ but Yuuri refused because—

_What if that’s it? What if that’s his only chance?_

—because he was uncomfortable. It seems silly now, because he wants the video just to prove Yura wrong. Viktor isn’t even here to meet him on the ice and Yura is _wrong._

“It _will_ be clean.” Yuuri states, “I hope Viktor _watches.”_

“I hope he chokes on it!” Yura agrees, turning to look at him. “Hey, did you know Otabek made that mix at the grApple Store?”

“What?”

“Yeah! We caught up while you were doing interviews. Listen to this. He made more.”

And Yuuri puts his headphones in and the world falls away.

 

—

 

It’s less that being a DJ is what he does, than being a DJ is what he _is._ Otabek hears music, everywhere, constantly, helplessly reforming the sounds and words around himself without conscious input. Whole soundtracks play out in his mind and he doesn’t even know how to set it all down; he doesn’t play an instrument.

He skates.

It’s the only thing he does that’s original; everything else is a reformation of something that already exists. But like even his words, it still comes out a little stilted. And this is a problem.

Otabek knows they call him their hero. Kazakhstan who adopted him and Uzbekistan who birthed him; he represents the country that sponsors him and gives him ice time, but he had only been at that rink because his family moved there from Samarkand for the resources.

He wants to make his family proud. All of his families. All of his countries. All of his homes. But he doesn’t have the words; how can he be a grown man, a proud son, an inspiring hero, and say ‘I love you’ without making himself less of a man, less of a son, less of a hero? How can he be strong for them both, to represent and support them _both,_ when expressing his love for them _at all_ is a weakness? What are the rules to this, to being a man, when you’ve been adopted, and want neither side hurt?

So he skates.

Even if there, still, he stumbles. Initially Kazakhstan, so recently split from Russia, pulled in their pride and sent him to Russian skate camps to learn. But ballet was like an ill-fitting shoe.

Otabek learned just enough to know what ballet _should_ look like, both graceful and fierce. Lithe, but steely-eyed.

_Ballet should look like Yuri Plisetsky._

He envies that, recognizes it. But even if he envies it, even if he finds kinship with the style but not the ability to carry it off, it did not tell him what he needed to know: how to express love and pride and gratefulness as a beloved son. He did not see it in the instructor. He did not see it in the students. He goes to other countries to find help and inspiration.

His home countries may have been born from Russia but they need not mimic it in every way. They need to be their own, just as he needs to skate in his own way.

Otabek is nearly there, he knows. Close enough to see it, far enough away that the distance is _galling._ His skating still feel stilted just as his words still come out awkward.

He is here in Sochi but only on a technicality, because Viktor Nikiforov had disappeared. Earlier that day he arrived at the rink to practice and found it occupied. The other skaters looked at ease with each other, backs straight, heads high. The coaches were chatting with each other like old friends.

He felt like an intruder. His coach was still dealing with their paperwork back at the hotel.

“Hey, it’s the DJ.”

_—put a record on, I wanna dance with my baby—_

Otabek tried to keep track of the conversation instead of the earworm pestering him (he thinks if he adds some a bit of metal to that track Madonna would approve, she’d always pushed the envelope with style), he made his introduction and didn’t bother asking for their names. He knew them already. Japan’s Ace looked so serious and focused, even as he’d greeted Otabek and it made him straighten up. It made him want to be taken seriously, and to present all of himself and his countries with pride.

Russia’s Ice Tiger swept up to them, practically ignoring him even though they’d spent a skate camp together, but Katsuki extended an invitation to practice with them graciously.

Of course Otabek jumped at the chance.

Perhaps they might all be friends after this. He’d never gotten the chance to ask Plisetsky at camp, never felt like the opportunity came up. It never seemed appropriate. He’d take a step forward, and then think to himself, _no._ [ _Maybe later_](https://youtu.be/J4TSRWJ3lG4?t=43s) _._

When he’d rushed around packing for Sochi, Otabek thought that he was unprepared but he couldn’t let this opportunity go. It would be his first year at the Finals, an amazing learning experience and chance to hone his performance for Worlds; perhaps even network even though he’s poor at it. Sharing rinktime with these two was beyond his hopes.

They were the two skaters he admired most for their ability to express the things they wanted to.

And the practice was amazing, Otabek felt like he learned so much just by watching up close. And later while Katsuki was with reporters, he’d managed to chat with Yuri about their camp experiences. Apparently his face changed alot with puberty, Yuri didn’t recognize him from there. He’d even got to share his music; the other skater requested copies once he’d listened, and promised to credit him.

He sees them now, coming into the warm up area where everyone was getting ready waiting for their event to start. Katsuki’s headphones are connected to Yuri’s phone.

Otabek gives them a thumbs up. And Yuri gives him a thumbs up in return. Katsuki looks up, blinking, smiles and waves at him.

 _Your music is great,_ he mouths.

 _Ah,_ Otabek thinks.

 

—

 

Celestino is grateful that Yuuri’s made friends here; Yuuri had been working himself up to his usual stress levels and it’s always tricky trying to figure out what wouldn’t make him snap or give him a setback. Distraction seems to work, but sometimes he becomes irritable when someone’s distracting him. Right now a couple skaters are left before Yuuri’s to go up, and the three skaters from this morning’s early practice are huddled in a group talking about something.

From the relaxed set of Yuuri’s shoulders, Celestino thinks that Yuuri probably haven’t seen social media yet. Celestino thinks little Yuri might be helping with that. The glance they’d exchanged that morning seemed to say that the teenager knew what’s up and that he’s willing to help. He hopes Yuuri’s new friend can keep up the distraction until after the free skate, but there’s a day inbetween the short program and the free skate and it’s hard to say who might say something. Accidentally or otherwise.

It’s not really that unknown, having celebrity’s personal bits splattered across the internet, but it’s rude and unfortunate and a shock. Yuuri is a very private person, Celestino knows, and vastly uncomfortable with his celebrity. He doesn’t even seem to want to acknowledge it at all and Celestino tries to respect that as best he could especially given how stressed it makes Yuuri.

They’ve been working on various ways to combat his performance anxiety and they’ve been succeeding this year. Part of it is actually making sure Yuuri keep regular contact with his family; it’s too easy for him to go months without speaking to them, while being focused on skating or trying to have something ‘worthwhile’ to be able to report to them.

 _Just check in,_ Celestino encourages. _They’re there supporting you._

 _Okay,_ Yuuri always replies, but with something in his tone that suggests he didn’t quite believe him.

“Yuuri,” Celestino interrupts, “here’s your phone. Please call your family like we’ve been doing, but return it to me. You don’t need social media right now.”

Yuuri nods a bit hesitantly and detaches himself from the group.

Celestino walks them over to a quiet corridor while Yuuri dials then holds the phone to his ear.

“Kaasan?” Yuuri calls out, and goes on for a bit in Japanese. His shoulders relax even more, and Yuuri leans against the wall, listening for a bit, snickering a little, and then responding again.

Celestino nods to himself and leaves to give Yuuri some privacy.

 

—

 

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Yuuri says, biting back a laugh as he listens to what his father got up to while drunk, “But I am.”

“He always keeps things exciting,” his mother agrees, “And Sagan Tosu won! And we hope to celebrate more tonight with your performance, we’re all staying up and watching!”

“...ah,” Yuuri stutters, “All of you?”

“Oh yes, the family, Minako, our regulars, and Viktor! Speaking of which… What? You want— Oh! I see! Hold on—”

And then the phone clicks.

Yuuri looks down at his phone but the call’s disconnected. He doesn’t understand what just happened.

It rings in his hand.

“Hello? I’m sorry,” Yuuri hasn’t memorized his family’s new numbers yet but the country code is unfamiliar, he’s guessing it’s someone else, or maybe something’s happened. “I just got a new phone. Who’s this?”

“Yuuri! Don’t play around,” Viktor laughs, “I know you always memorized my numbers.”

Yuuri’s eyes widen. That’s _Viktor._ That’s Viktor’s voice coming from his phone. That’s Viktor… thinking Yuuri is a _stalker?_ What type of person would _memorize_ Viktor’s numbers?

“Yuuri, I know you’re up soon. With your skate,” Viktor says lightly, “I want to tell you: please say something meaningful. It’ll be how you’d skate best.”

There is no way to make sense of mental shockwave from those words, everything that he’d been feeling for the last few days compressed into a single moment. It becomes so intense that it wipes everything, before and after, away.

“Why are you saying something like that,” Yuuri finds himself at a distance, barely knowing what’s coming out of his mouth, “I don’t even know you.”

He takes the phone from his ear and looks down at it again. Nothing makes sense.

He hangs up.

Walks numbly back to the warm up area.

Celestino’s pushing him forward.

It’s time to get on the ice. It’s time to—

_“Please say something meaningful. It’ll be how you’d skate best.”_

But what can he even say?

 

—

 

Yuuri’s in the center of the rink. He looks down at the cold semi-translucent surface.

 _I know this ice,_ he thinks. _I know this building, the sound of the space here. The way it echoes._

He’s at the Grand Prix Final where he was supposed to have met Viktor on the same ice for the first time.

But Viktor’s not here.

Even though he's watching.

_I should say something to him._

 

—

 

“Viktor?”

“It’s probably nothing Kaasan, let’s watch.”

“Shhh, he’s starting!”

 

—

 

Yuuri skates.

No, listen. _Listen._

 

 

 

 

Yuuri _skates._

 

—

 

_Oh._

_Oh Yuuri, I didn’t—_

 

Because Viktor _hears:_

_Why are you doing this Viktor Nikiforov; four time consecutive Grand Prix Winner Viktor Nikiforov, World Champion Viktor Nikiforov, Viktor Nikiforov who I’ve always looked up to. Who I’ve never met. Who are you, to do this?_

_Why aren’t you here?_

 

Viktor covers his mouth. This is not the man he’s married.

 

“Viktor, is everything alright?” Hiroko asks again.

“He’s upset.” Viktor says numbly.

Yuuri’s family makes noises of confusion, but there is no way to lie to himself any longer. He carefully curls his arms around Vicchan and pets him, unable to stop watching Yuuri skate.

“I’ve upset him, I’m, I’m very sorry. I didn’t think—”

“What did he say on the phone?” Mari states. “It can’t have possibly been that bad.”

Viktor turns to Minako, “You see it right?”

The dancer is silent, frowning at the TV.

“You see the,” Viktor swings out his arm, and at full extension his fingers _snap_ into position.

Minako’s jaw firms and she whips towards him, “It’s not at _you.”_

_I know._

She says, insistently, staring at his face, “He doesn’t even know you.”

 _I know,_ Viktor thinks, his heart a ruin. _That is not my husband._

 

_—_

 

_"So what would you do, if you could go back in time?" Viktor asks playfully as they carefully walk out of the theater. If he places his cane precise enough it hides his limp, and he thinks it makes him look jaunty while his arm’s linked with Yuuri._

_His husband hums thoughtfully. "I want to know what you'd do too."_

_"Wouldn't want to mess anything up!" The movie had been a mess of timelines, the protagonist kept having to redo her choices to save the world somehow. The plot had been a little confusing but everything made sense at the end. "Hmm..."_

_"Viktor, lets say what we would do at the exact same time."_

_"Surprise each other?"_

_"Yeah!" Yuuri smiles and it's still the brightest part of Viktor's day._

_"Okay! One!"_

_"Two."_

_"Three!"_

_"Watch you skate again," Viktor says. While Yuuri blurts out, "Save Vicchan."_

_They stare at each other._

_"What?!" Yuuri looks shocked. "Not even your injury? I thought. I would have thought you’d want that."_

_"I want to see you skate. That's what I want most," Viktor shakes his head, "That's what I thought of first. Yuuri,"_ on the ice you were so beautiful, _he almost says._ I miss it so much, _he almost says._ I miss seeing you dance. _But Viktor doesn't want to talk about concussions today, "You would choose Vicchan? Over everything else?"_

_"Every choice we made lead us to here, right?" Yuuri's eyes are getting watery. "I would choose this."_

_"You would_ choose—"

_"You. This. Every part of this, with you." Yuuri cuts in firmly. But then slides his eyes to the ground. He clutches Viktor's arm tighter. "But Vicchan didn't deserve what he got."_

_"And you would save him." Viktor says fondly, teary-eyed himself._

_"I would."_

_"If I could, I would save him for you!" Viktor proclaims grandly._

_"I know." Yuuri says, as if he might say_ ‘I love you’. _And when Yuuri laughs, it unlocks everything golden in Viktor's chest._

 

—

  
(end part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and that’s how Yuuri opens pandora’s box.
> 
> [ **Anxiety warning:** Yuuri experiences escalating anxiety as the competition gets closer. moonbelowsea literally said she was getting anxious just reading it. If you want to skip this section, start skimming when you see the words **'Practice is too short'.** It's over by the next section, and even a little before it if you want a little context.]
> 
>    
> This chapter killed me because it deviated from the original outline with the two scenes at the end that several comments helped me realize I needed. So so so much love for my beta moonbelowsea for helping me through a rough time and also encouraging me with this fic. Speaking of which, this happened:  
> [10:58 PM] bone: IT'S SAPPY EVIL  
> [11:00 PM] bone: like the new bit I mean  
> [11:00 PM] bone: in context  
> [11:00 PM] moonbelowsea: YES  
> [11:00 PM] moonbelowsea: YES IT IS  
> [11:00 PM] moonbelowsea: you're very mean  
> [11:00 PM] bone: xD  
> [11:00 PM] moonbelowsea: but we already knew that  
> [11:00 PM] bone: we did!  
> [11:00 PM] bone: ...they don't  
> [11:00 PM] bone: >_>  
> [11:00 PM] bone: yet
> 
> Also? Otabek, I realized from the comments that I needed Otabek. But his POV threw me for a loop for the longest time and RL didn’t help.
> 
> I’ve linked to his earworms. You’re welcome.
> 
>  
> 
> And since you're here, fic that needs more love!
> 
> [A Heart of Blades||Cannot Break](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10506549/chapters/23183265) by Adel Mortescryche  
> I feel like you almost don’t need to know SAO to love this, all you need to love are RPG’s. Basically, Yuuri literally got sucked into an RPG, and what was supposed to be a video game ended up being something like Hunger Games instead. He survives but it changes him, and the way this story weaves the elements of the two shows together is excellent.
> 
> [You Won't Believe What Happens Next](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10536744) by adjit  
> Can you tell I love Social Media fic? BECAUSE I LOVE SOCIAL MEDIA FIC.
> 
> [Easy as Pirozhki](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10495398) by callasyndra  
> I really fucking love Yuuri and Yurio’s friendship 
> 
> [in wine we trust](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10489530) by fireblazie  
> I also really fucking love unrequited teenage crush Yurio being an angry Tsun.
> 
> [There's a Difference Series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/693351) by GorandV  
> And when Yuuri and Yurio’s friendship results in giving two middle fingers to the world in solidarity, there is no bad there.
> 
> It was really hard in RL for a couple weeks there and everyone’s comments seriously helped me through and get back to writing. You are all wonderful, but please consider dropping some love on these other authors too! 
> 
> Part 2 will be Viktor in Japan, including alot of flashbacks, stay tuned!


End file.
